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PRESENTED  BY 

Mr.    H.    H.    KM  iani 


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H.    DE    BALZAC 


THE   COMEDIE    HUMAINE 


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DU   TlLLET   TOOK   HIS    WIFE'S    ARM    AND PLANTED    HER 

BEFORE    HIM. 


H.    DE    BALZAC 


A  Daughter  of  Eve 

(Une  Fille  d'Eve) 


AND 


Letters  of  Two  Brides 

(Memoires  de  deux  jeunes  mariees) 


TRANSLATED    BY 


R.    S.   SCOTT 


WITH  A  PREFACE  BY 


GEORGE   SAINTSBURY 


e^ 


PHILADELPHIA 

The  Gebbie  Publishing  Co.,  Ltd. 
1898 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

PREFACE ix 

A  DAUGHTER  OF  EVE^ 

I.    THE   TWO    MARIES 2 

II.    SISTERLY   CONFIDENCES I5 

HI.    THE   STORY   OF   A    HAPPY   WOMAN 22 

IV.    A    MAN   OF   NOTE 33 

V.    FLORINE 51 

VI.    LOVE    VERSUS    SOCIETY 66 

VII.    SUICIDE 87 

VIII.    A   LOVER   SAVED   AND   LOST lOS 

IX.    A    husband's   TRIUMPH      .......  122 

LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES— 

FIRST    PART 136 

SEtOND   PART .            .  33O 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

DU  TILLET  TOOK   HIS  WIFE'S  ARM  AND PLANTED  HER  BEFORE 

HIM  (p.   21 ) Frontispiece. 

FAGB 
MARIE HELD   OUT    HER    HAND    TO    RAOUL  ....         77 

A   FAMOUS   DRESSMAKER,   BY   NAME  VICTORINE,   HAS   COME     .  .      I5I 

I   SMOKE   AND   TAKE   MY   CHOCOLATE,   SITTING  AT  MY  WINDOW     .      I74 
Drawn  by  y.  Ayton  Symington. 

SHE CARRIED   ME  OFF  TO   HER   PRETTY   GARDEN     .  .  -379 

Drawn  by  W.  Boucher. 


PREFACE. 

Opinions  of  the  larger  division  of  this  book  will  vary  in 
pretty  direct  ratio  with  the  general  taste  of  the  reader  for 
Balzac  in  his  more  sentimental  mood,  and  for  his  delineations 
of  virtuous  or  "honest"  women.  As  is  the  case  with  the 
number  of  the  Coraedie  which  immediately  succeeds  it  in 
Scenes  de  la  Vie  Privee,  I  cannot  say  of  it  that  it  appeals  to 
me  personally  with  any  strong  attraction.  It  is,  however, 
much  later  and  much  more  accomplished  work  than  "  La 
Femme  de  Trente  Ans  "  and  its  companions.  It  is  possible 
also  that  opinion  may  be  conditioned  by  likes  or  dislikes  for 
novels  written  in  the  form  of  letters,  but  this  cannot  count  for 
very  much.  Some  of  the  best  novels  in  the  world,  and  some 
of  the  worst,  have  taken  this  form,  so  that  the  form  itself  can 
have  had  nothing  necessarily  to  do  with  their  goodness  and 
badness  by  itself. 

Something  of  the  odd  perversity  which  seems  to  make  it  so 
difficult  for  a  French  author  to  imagine  a  woman,  not  neces- 
sarily a  model  of  perfection,  who  combines  love  for  her  hus- 
band of  the  passionate  kind  with  love  for  her  children  of  the 
animal  sort,  commonsense  and  good  housewifery  with  freedom 
from  the  characteristics  of  the  mere  menagere,  interest  in 
affairs  and  books  and  things  in  general  without,  in  the  French 
sense,  "dissipation"  or  neglect  of  home, — appears  in  the 
division  of  the  parts  of  Louise  de  Chaulieu  and  Renee  de 
Maucombe.  I  cannot  think  that  Balzac  has  improved  his 
book,  though  he  has  made  it  much  easier  to  write,  by  this 
separation.  We  should  take  more  interest  in  Rente's  nursery 
— it  is  fair  to  Balzac  to  say  that  he  was  one  of  the  earliest, 
despite  his  lukewarm  affection  for  things  English,  to  introduce 
this  important  apartment  into  a  French  novel — if  she  had  mar- 
ried her  husband  less  as  a  matter  of  business,  and  had  regarded 

(ix) 


X  PREFACE. 

him  with  a  somewhat  more  romantic  affection  ;  and  though  it 
is  perhaps  not  fair  to  look  forward  to  the  "  Depute  d'Arcis" 
(which,  after  all,  is  not  in  this  part  probably  Balzac's  work), 
we  should  not  in  that  case  have  been  so  little  surprised  as  we 
are  to  find  the  staid  matron  very  nearly  flinging  herself  at  the 
head  of  a  young  sculptor,  and  "making  it  up"  to  him  (one 
of  the  nastiest  situations  in  fiction)  with  her  own  daughter. 
So,  too,  if  the  addition  of  a  little  more  romance  to  Renee  had 
resulted  in  the  subtraction  of  a  corresponding  quantity  from 
Louise,  there  might  not  have  been  much  harm  done.  This 
very  inflammable  lady  of  high  degree  irresistibly  reminds  one 
(except  in  beauty)  of  the  terrible  spinster  in  Mr.  Punch's  gal- 
lery who  "  had  never  seen  the  man  whom  she  could  not  love, 
and  hoped  to  Heaven  she  never  might."  It  was  not  for 
nothing  that  Mile,  de  Chaulieu  requested  (in  defiance  of  pos- 
sibility) to  be  introduced  to  Madame  de  Stael.  She  is  her- 
self a  later  and  slightly  modernized  variety  of  the  Corinne  ideal 
— a  sort  of  French  equivalent  in  fiction  of  the  actual  English 
Lady  Caroline  Lamb,  a  person  with  no  repose  in  her  affec- 
tions, and  conceiving  herself  in  conscience  bound  to  make  both 
herself  and  her  lovers  or  husbands  miserable.  It  is  true  that 
in  order  to  the  successful  accomplishment  of  this  cheerful  life- 
programme,  Balzac  has  provided  her  with  two  singularly  com- 
plaisant and  adequate  helpmates  in  the  shape  of  the  Spaniard- 
Sardinian  Felipe  de  Macumer  and  the  French-Englishman 
and  lunatic  Marie  Gaston.  Nor  do  I  know  that  she  is  more 
than  they  themselves  desire,  being,  as  they  are,  walking  gentle- 
men of  a  most  trisie  description,  deplorable  to  consider  as 
coming  from  the  hand  that  created  not  merely  Goriot  and 
Grandet,  but  even  Rastignac,  Flore  Brazier,  and  Lucien  de 
Rubemprd.  If  this  censure  seems  too  hard,  I  can  only  say 
that  of  all  things  that  deserve  the  name  of  failure,  "  sensi- 
bility" that  does  not  reach  the  actual  boiling-point  of  passion 
seems  to  me  to  fail  most  disagreeably. 

There  are,  however,  even  for  thosa  who  are  thus  minded, 


PREFACE.  xi 

considerable  condolences  and  consolations  in  "Une  Fille 
d'Eve."  It  is  perhaps  unfortunate,  and  may  not  improbably 
be  the  cause  of  that  abiding  notion  of  Balzac  as  preferring 
moral  ugliness  to  moral  beauty,  which  has  been  so  often  re- 
ferred to,  that  he  has  rather  a  habit  of  setting  his  studies  in 
rose-pink  side  by  side  with  his  far  more  vigorous  exercitations 
in  black  and  crimson.  "Une  Fille  d'Eve"  is  one  of  the 
best  of  these  latter  in  its  own  way.  It  is  no  doubt  conditioned 
by  Balzac's  quaint  hatred  of  that  newspaper  press  from  which 
he  never  could  quite  succeed  in  disengaging  himself;  and  we 
should  have  been  more  entirely  rejoiced  at  the  escape  of  Count 
Felix  de  Vandenesse  from  the  decoration  so  often  alluded  to 
by  our  Elizabethan  poets  and  dramatists  if  he  had  not  been 
the  very  questionable  hero  of  "  Le  Lys  dans  la  Vallee."  But 
the  whole  intrigue  is  managed  with  remarkable  ease  and  skill ; 
the  "double  arrangement,"  so  to  speak,  by  which  Raoul 
Nathan  proves  for  a  time  at  least  equally  attractive  to  such 
very  different  persons  as  Florine  and  Madame  de  Vandenesse, 
the  perfidious  manoeuvres  of  the  respectable  ladies  who  have 
formerly  enjoyed  the  doubtful  honor  of  Count  Felix's  atten- 
tions— all  are  good.  It  can  hardly  be  said,  considering  the 
nature  of  the  case,  that  the  Count's  method  of  saving  his 
honor,  though  not  quite  the  most  scrupulous  in  the  world,  is 
contrary  to  *'  the  game,"  and  the  whole  moves  well. 

Perhaps  the  character  of  Nathan  himself  cannot  be  said  to 
be  quite  fully  worked  out.  Balzac  seems  to  have  postulated, 
as  almost  necessary  to  the  journalist  nature,  a  sort  of  levity 
half  artistic,  half  immoral,  which  is  incapable  of  constancy 
or  uprightness.  Blondet,  and  perhaps  Claud  Vignon,  are 
about  the  only  members  of  the  accursed  vocation  whom  he 
allows  in  some  measure  to  escape  the  curse.  But  he  has 
not  elaborated  and  instanced  its  working  quite  so  fully  in 
the  case  of  Nathan  as  in  the  cases  of  Lousteau  and  Lucien 
de  Rubemprd.  I  do  not  know  whether  any  special  original 
has  been  assigned  to  Nathan,  who,  it  will   be   observed,  is 


rii  PREFACE. 

something  more    than  a  mere  journalist,  being  a  successful 
dramatist  and  romancer. 

"Meraoires  de  Deux  Jeunes  Mariees"  first  appeared  in 
the  ''Presse  "  during  the  winter  of  1841-42,  and  was  published 
as  a  book  by  Souverain  in  the  latter  year.  The  Comedie  in 
its  complete  form  was  already  under  weigh ;  and  the  Mdmoires 
being  suitable  for  its  earliest  division,  the  Scenes  de  la  Vie 
Privee  were  entered  at  once  on  the  books,  the  same  year, 
1842,  seeing  the  entrance. 

"  Une  Fille  d'Eve"  was  a  little  earlier.  After  appearing 
(with  nftie  chapter  divisions)  in  the  "  Siecle "  on  the  last 
day  of  December  1838  and  during  the  first  fortnight  of 
January  1839,  it  was  in  the  latter  year  published  as  a  book 
by  Souverain  with  "  Massimilla  Doni,"  and  three  years  later 
was  comprised  in  the  first  volume  of  the  Comedie. 

G.  S. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  EVE. 

i 

To  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Bolognini,  nee 
Vimercati. 

If  you  remember,  dear  lady,  the  pleasure  your  con- 
versation gave  to  a  certain  traveler,  making  Paris  live 
for  him  in  Milan,  you  will  not  be  surprised  that  he 
should  lay  one  of  his  works  at  your  feet ^  as  a  token  of 
gratitude  for  so  fnany  delightful  evenings  spent  in  your 
society,  nor  that  he  should  seek  for  it  the  shelter  of  a 
name  which,  in  old  times,  was  given  to  not  a  few  of 
the  tales  by  one  of  your  early  writers,  beloved  of  the 
Milanese.  You  have  a  Eugenie,  with  more  than  the 
promise  of  beauty,  whose  speaking  smile  proclaims  her 
to  have  inherited  from  you  the  most  precious  gifts  a 
woman  can  possess,  and  whose  childhood,  it  is  certain, 
will  be  rich  in  all  those  joys  which  a  harsh  mother 
refused  to  the  Eugenie  of  these  pages.  If  Frenchmen 
are  accused  of  being  frivolous  and  inconstant,  I,  you 
see,  am  Italian  in  my  faithfulness  and  attachments. 
How  often,  as  I  wrote  the  name  of  Eugenie,  have  my 
thoughts  carried  me  back  to  the  cqoI  stuccoed  drawing- 
room  and  little  garden  of  the  Vicolo  dei  Capuccini, 
which  used  to  resound  to  the  dear  child' s  merry 
laughter,  to  our  quarrels,  and  our  stories.  You  have 
left  the  Corso  for  the  Tie  Monaster!,  where  I  know 
nothing  of  your  manner  of  life,  and  I  am  forced  to 
picture  you,  no  longer  amongst  the  pretty  things,  which 
doubtless  still  surround  you,  but  like  one  of  the  beauti- 
ful heads  of  Carlo  Dolci,  Raphael,  Titian,  or  Allori, 
which,  in  their  remoteness,  seem  to  us  like  abstractions. 

(1) 


A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

If  this  book  succeed  in  making  its  ivay  across  the 
Alps,  it  will  tell  you  of  the  lively  gratitude  and  re- 
spectful friendship  of 

Your  humble  servant, 

De  Balzac. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   TWO    MARIES. 

It  was  half-past  eleven  in  the  evening,  and  two  women  were 
seated  by  the  fire  of  a  boudoir  in  one  of  the  finest  houses  of 
the  Rue  Neuve-des-Mathurins.  The  room  was  hung  in  blue 
velvet,  of  the  kind  with  tender  melting  lights,  which  French 
industry  has  only  lately  learned  to  manufacture.  The  doors 
and  windows  had  been  draped  by  a  really  artistic  decorator 
with  rich  cashmere  curtains,  matching  the  walls  in  color. 
From  a  prettily  moulded  rose  in  the  centre  of  the  ceiling, 
hung,  by  three  finely  wrought  chains,  a  silver  lamp,  studded 
with  turquoises.  The  plan  of  decoration  had  been  carried 
out  to  the  very  minutest  detail ;  even  the  ceiling  was  covered 
with  blue  silk,  while  long  bands  of  cashmere,  folded  across 
the  silk  at  equal  distances,  made  stars  of  white,  looped  up 
with  pearl  beading.  The  feet  sank  in  the  warm  pile  of  a 
Belgian  carpet,  close  as  a  lawn,  where  blue  nosegays  were 
sprinkled  over  a  ground  the  color  of  unbleached  linen.  The 
warm  tone  of  the  furniture,  which  was  of  solid  rosewood  and 
carved  after  the  best  antique  models,  saved  from  insipidity 
the  general  effect  which  a  painter  might  have  called  a  little 
"  muzzy."  On  the  backs  of  the  chairs  small  panels  of  splen- 
did figured  silk — white  with  blue  flowers — were  set  in  broad 
leafy  frames,  finely  cut  on  the  wood.  On  either  side  of  the 
window  stood  a  set  of  shelves,  loaded  with  valuable  knick- 
knacks,  the  flower  of  mechanical  art,  sprung  into  being  at  the 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  3 

touch  of  creative  fancy.  The  mantelpiece  of  African  marble 
bore  a  platinum  timepiece  with  arabesques  in  black  enamel, 
flanked  by  extravagant  specimens  of  old  Saxe — the  inevitable 
shepherd  with  dainty  bouquet  for  ever  tripping  to  meet  his 
bride — embodying  the  Teutonic  conception  of  ceramic  art. 
Above  sparkled  the  beveled  facets  of  a  Venetian  mirror  in  an 
ebony  frame,  crowded  with  figures  in  relief,  relic  of  some  royal 
residence.  Two  flower-stands  displayed  at  this  season  the 
sickly  triumphs  of  the  hothouse,  pale,  spirit-like  blossoms, 
the  pearls  of  the  world  of  flowers.  The  room  might  have 
been  for  sale,  it  was  so  desperately  tidy  and  prim.  It  bore  no 
impress  of  will  and  character  such  as  marks  a  happy  home, 
and  even  the  women  did  not  break  the  general  chilly  impres- 
sion, for  they  were  weeping. 

The  proprietor  of  the  house,  Ferdinand  du  Tillet,  was  one 
of  the  richest  bankers  in  Paris,  and  the  very  mention  of  his 
name  will  account  for  the  lavish  style  of  the  house  decoration, 
of  which  the  boudoir  may  be  taken  as  a  sample.  Du  Tillet, 
though  a  man  of  no  family,  and  sprung  from  heaven  knows 
where,  had  taken  for  a  wife,  in  1831,  the  only  unmarried 
daughter  of  the  Comte  de  Granville,  whose  name  was  one  of 
the  most  illustrious  on  the  French  bench,  and  who  had  been 
made  a  peer  of  the  realm  after  the  Revolution  of  July.  This 
ambitious  alliance  was  not  gotten  for  nothing ;  in  the  settle- 
ment, du  Tillet  had  to  sign  a  receipt  for  a  dowry  of  which  he 
never  touched  a  penny.  This  nominal  dowry  was  the  same  in 
amount  as  the  huge  sum  given  to  the  elder  sister  on  her  marriage 
with  Comte  Felix  de  Vandenesse,  and  which,  in  fact,  was  the 
price  paid  by  the  Granvilles  in  their  turn  for  a  matrimonial 
prize.  Thus,  in  the  long  run,  the  bank  repaired  the  breach 
which  aristocracy  had  made  in  the  finances  of  the  bench. 
Could  the  Comte  de  Vandenesse  have  seen  himself,  three 
years  in  advance,  brother-in-law  of  a  Master  Ferdinand,  self- 
styled  du  Tillet,  it  is  possible  he  might  have  declined  the 
match;  but  who  could  have  foreseen  at  the  close  of  1828  the 


4  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

Strange  upheavals  which  1830  was  to  produce  in  the  political, 
financial,  and  moral  condition  of  France?  Had  Count  Felix 
been  told  that  in  the  general  shuffle  he  would  lose  his  peer's 
coronet,  to  find  it  again  on  his  father-in-law's  brow,  he  would 
have  treated  his  informant  as  a  lunatic. 

Crouching  in  a  listening  attitude  in  one  of  those  low  chairs 
called  a  chauffeuse,  Mme.  du  Tillet  pressed  her  sister's  hand 
to  her  breast  with  motherly  tenderness,  and  from  time  to 
time  kissed  it.  This  sister  was  known  in  society  as  Mme. 
Felix  de  Vandenesse,  the  Christian  name  being  joined  to  that 
of  the  family,  in  order  to  distinguish  the  countess  from  her 
sister-in-law,  wife  of  the  former  ambassador,  Charles  de 
Vandenesse,  widow  of  the  late  Comte  de  Kergarouet,  whose 
wealth  she  had  inherited,  and  by  birth  a  de  Fontaine.  The 
countess  had  thrown  herself  back  upon  a  lounge,  a  handker- 
chief in  her  other  hand,  her  eyes  swimming,  her  breath 
choked  with  half-stifled  sobs.  She  had  just  poured  out  her 
confidences  to  Mme.  du  Tillet  in  a  way  which  proved  the 
tenderness  of  their  sisterly  love.  In  an  age  like  ours  it  would 
have  seemed  so  natural  for  sisters,  who  had  married  into  such 
very  different  spheres,  not  to  be  on  intimate  terms,  that  a 
rapid  glance  at  the  story  of  their  childhood  will  be  necessary 
in  order  to  explain  the  origin  of  this  affection  which  had  sur- 
vived, without  jar  or  flaw,  the  alienating  forces  of  society  and 
the  mutual  scorn  of  their  husbands. 

The  early  home  of  Marie-Ang6lique  and  Marie-Eugenie 
was  a  dismal  house  in  the  Marais.  Here  they  were  brought 
up  by  a  pious  but  narrow-minded  woman,  "  imbued  with  high 
principle,"  as  the  classic  phrase  has  it,  who  conceived  herself 
to  have  performed  the  whole  duty  of  a  mother  when  her  girls 
arrived  at  the  door  of  matrimony  without  ever  having  traveled 
beyond  the  domestic  circle  embraced  by  the  maternal  eye. 
Up  to  that  time  they  had  never  even  been  to  a  play.  A  Paris 
church  was  their  nearest  approach  to  a  theatre.  In  short, 
their  upbringing  in  their  mother's  house  was  as  strict  as  it 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  5 

could  have  been  in  a  convent.  From  the  time  that  they  had 
ceased  to  be  mere  infants  they  always  slept  in  a  room  adjoin- 
ing that  of  the  countess,  the  door  of  which  was  kept  open  at 
night.  The  time  not  occupied  by  dressing,  religious  observ- 
ances, and  the  minimum  of  study  requisite  for  the  children  of 
gentlefolk,  was  spent  in  making  poor-clothes  and  in  taking 
exercise,  modeled  on  the  English  Sunday  walk,  where  any 
quickening  of  the  solemn  pace  is  checked  as  being  suggestive 
of  cheerfulness.  Their  lessons  were  kept  within  the  limits 
imposed  by  confessors,  chosen  from  among  the  least  liberal 
and  most  Jansenist  of  ecclesiastics.  Never  were  girls  handed 
over  to  their  husbands  more  pure  and  virgin  :  in  this  point, 
doubtless  one  of  great  importance,  their  mother  seemed  to 
have  seen  the  fulfillment  of  her  whole  duty  to  God  and  man. 
Not  a  novel  did  the  poor  things  read  till  they  were  married. 
In  drawing  an  old  maid  was  their  instructor,  and  their  only 
copies  were  figures  whose  anatomy  would  have  confounded 
Cuvier,  and  so  drawn  as  to  have  made  a  woman  of  the  Farnese 
Hercules.  A  worthy  priest  taught  them  grammar,  French, 
history,  geography,  and  the  little  arithmetic  a  woman  needs 
to  know.  As  for  literature,  they  read  aloud  in  the  evening 
from  certain  authorized  books,  such  as  the  "  Lettres  edi- 
fiantes  "  and  Noel's  "Lemons  de  litterature,"  but  only  in  the 
presence  of  their  mother's  confessor,  since  even  here  passages 
might  occur,  which,  apart  from  heedful  commentary,  would 
be  liable  to  stir  the  imagination.  Fenelon's  "  Telemachus  " 
was  held  dangerous.  The  Comtesse  de  Granville  was  not 
without  affection  for  her  daughters,  and  it  showed  itself  in 
wishing  to  make  angels  of  them  in  the  fashion  of  Marie 
Alacoque,  but  the  daughters  would  have  preferred  a  mother 
less  saintly  and  more  human. 

This  education  bore  its  inevitable  fruit.  Religion,  imposed 
as  a  yoke  and  presented  under  its  harshest  aspect,  wearied 
these  innocent  young  hearts  with  a  discipline  adapted  for 
hardened  sinners.     It  repressed  their  feelings,  and,  though 


6  A   DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

Striking  deep  root,  could  create  no  affection.  The  two  Maries 
had  no  alternative  but  to  sink  into  imbecility  or  to  long  for 
independence.  Independence  meant  marriage,  and  to  this 
they  looked  as  soon  as  they  began  to  see  something  of  the 
world  and  could  exchange  a  few  ideas,  while  yet  remaining 
utterly  unconscious  of  their  own  touching  grace  and  rare 
qualities.  Ignorant  of  what  innocence  meant,  without  arms 
against  misfortune,  without  experience  of  happiness,  how 
should  they  be  able  to  judge  of  life  ?  Their  only  comfort  in 
the  depths  of  this  maternal  jail  was  drawn  from  each  other. 
Their  sweet  whispered  talks  at  night,  the  few  sentences  they 
could  exchange  when  their  mother  left  them  for  a  moment, 
contained  sometimes  more  thoughts  than  could  be  put  in 
words.  Often  would  a  stolen  glance,  charged  with  sympa- 
thetic message  and  response,  convey  a  whole  poem  of  bitter 
melancholy.  They  found  a  marvelous  joy  in  simple  things — 
the  sight  of  a  cloudless  sky,  the  scent  of  flowers,  a  turn  in  the 
garden  with  interlacing  arms — and  would  exult  with  innocent 
glee  over  the  completion  of  a  piece  of  embroidery. 

Their  mother's  friends,  far  from  providing  intellectual  stim- 
ulus or  calling  forth  their  sympathies,  only  deepened  the  sur- 
rounding gloom.  They  were  stiff-backed  old  ladies,  dry  and 
rigid,  whose  conversation  turned  on  their  ailments,  on  the 
shades  of  difference  between  preachers  or  confessors,  or  on 
the  most  trifling  events  in  the  religious  world,  which  might 
be  found  in  the  pages  of  "La  Quotidienne"  or  "L'Ami  de 
la  Religion."  The  men  again  might  have  served  as  extin- 
guishers to  the  torch  of  love,  so  cold  and  mournfully  impassive 
were  their  faces.  They  had  all  reached  the  age  when  a  man 
becomes  churlish  and  irritable,  when  his  tastes  are  blunted 
except  at  table,  and  are  directed  only  to  procure  the  comforts 
of  life.  Religious  egotism  had  dried  up  hearts  devoted  to 
task  work  and  intrenched  behind  routine.  They  spent  the 
greater  part  of  the  evening  over  silent  card  parties.  At  times 
the  two  poor  little  girls,  placed  under  the  ban  of  this  sanhe- 


A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  7 

drin,  who  abetted  the  maternal  severity,  would  suddenly  feel 
that  they  could  bear  no  longer  the  sight  of  these  wearisome 
persons  with  their  sunken  eyes  and  frowning  faces. 

Against  the  dull  background  of  this  life  stood  out  in  bold 
relief  the  single  figure  of  a  man,  that  of  their  music-master. 
The  confessors  had  ruled  that  music  was  a  Christian  art,  hav- 
ing its  source  in  the  Catholic  church  and  developed  by  it,  and 
therefore  the  two  little  girls  were  allowed  to  learn  music.  A 
spectacled  lady,  who  professed  sol-fa  and  the  piano  at  a  neigh- 
boring convent,  bored  them  for  a  time  with  exercises.  But, 
when  the  elder  of  his  girls  was  ten  years  old,  the  Comte  de 
Granville  ix)inted  out  the  necessity  of  finding  a  master.  Mme. 
de  Granville,  who  could  not  deny  it,  gave  to  her  concession 
all  the  merit  of  wifely  submissiveness.  A  pious  woman  never 
loses  an  opportunity  of  taking  credit  for  doing  her  duty. 

The  master  was  a  Catholic  German,  one  of  those  men  who 
are  born  old  and  will  always  remain  fifty,  even  if  they  live  to 
be  eighty.  His  hollowed,  wrinkled,  swarthy  face  had  kept 
something  childlike  and  simple  in  its  darkest  folds.  The  blue 
of  innocence  sparkled  in  his  eyes,  and  the  gay  smile  of  spring 
dwelt  on  his  lips.  His  gray,  old  hair,  which  fell  in  natural 
curls,  like  those  of  Jesus  Christ,  added  to  his  ecstatic  air  a 
vague  solemnity  which  was  highly  misleading,  for  he  was  a 
man  to  make  a  fool  of  himself  with  the  most  exemplary  gravity. 
His  clothes  were  a  necessary  envelope  to  which  he  paid  no 
attention,  for  his  gaze  soared  too  high  in  the  clouds  to  come 
in  contact  with  material  things.  And  so  this  great  unrecog- 
nized artist  belonged  to  that  generous  race  of  the  absent- 
minded,  who  give  their  time  and  their  hearts  to  others,  just  as 
they  drop  their  gloves  on  every  table,  their  umbrellas  at  every 
door.  His  hands  were  of  the  kind  which  look  dirty  after 
washing.  Finally,  his  aged  frame,  badly  set  up  on  tottering, 
knotty  limbs,  gave  ocular  proof  how  far  a  man's  body  can 
become  a  mere  accessory  to  his  mind.  It  was  one  of  those 
strange  freaks  of  nature  which  no  one  has  ever  properly  de- 


8  A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

scribed  except  Hoffmann,  a  German,  who  has  made  himself 
the  poet  of  all  which  appears  lifeless  and  yet  lives.  Such  was 
Schmucke,  formerly  choirmaster  to  the  Margrave  of  Anspach, 
a  learned  man  who  underwent  inspection  from  a  council  of 
piety.  They  asked  him  whether  he  fasted.  The  master  was 
tempted  to  reply,  "Look  at  me  !  "  but  it  is  ill  work  jesting 
with  saints  and  Jansenist  confessors. 

This  apocryphal  old  man  held  so  large  a  place  in  the  life  of 
the  two  Maries — they  became  so  much  attached  to  the  great 
simple-minded  artist  whose  sole  interest  was  in  his  art — that, 
after  they  were  married,  each  bestowed  on  him  an  annuity  of 
three  hundred  francs,  a  sum  which  sufficed  for  his  lodging, 
his  beer,  his  pipe,  and  his  clothes.  Six  hundred  francs  a 
year  and  his  lessons  were  a  Paradise  for  Schmucke.  He  had 
not  ventured  to  confide  his  poverty  and  his  hopes  to  any  one 
except  these  two  charming  children,  whose  hearts  had  blos- 
somed under  the  snow  of  maternal  rigor  and  the  frost  of 
devotion,  and  this  fact  by  itself  sums  up  the  character  of 
Schmucke  and  the  childhood  of  the  two  Maries. 

No  one  could  tell  afterward  what  abbe,  what  devout  old 
lady,  had  unearthed  this  German,  lost  in  Paris.  No  sooner 
did  mothers  of  a  family  learn  that  the  Comtesse  de  Granville 
had  found  a  music-master  for  her  daughters  than  they  all 
asked  for  his  name  and  address.  Schmucke  had  thirty  houses 
in  the  Marais.  This  tardy  success  displayed  itself  in  slippers 
with  bronzed  steel  buckles  and  lined  with  horse-hair  soles, 
and  in  a  more  frequent  change  of  shirt.  His  childlike  gayety, 
long  repressed  by  an  honorable  and  seemly  poverty,  bubbled 
forth  afresh.  He  let  fall  little  jokes  such  as:  "Young  ladies, 
the  cats  supped  off  the  dirt  of  Paris  last  night,"  when  a  frost 
had  dried  the  muddy  streets  overnight,  only  they  were  spoken 
in  a  German o-Gallic  lingo :  "  Younc  ladies,  de  gads  subbed  off 
de  dirt  off  Barees.'^  Gratified  at  having  brought  his  adorable 
ladies  this  species  of  Vergiss  mein  nicht,  culled  from  the 
flowers  of  his  fancy,  he  put  on  an  air  of  such  ineffable  roguish- 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  9 

ness  in  presenting  it  tliat  mockery  was  disarmed.  It  made 
him  so  happy  to  call  a  smile  to  the  lips  of  his  pupils,  the  sad- 
ness of  whose  life  was  no  mystery  to  him,  that  he  would  have 
made  himself  ridiculous  on  purpose  if  nature  had  not  saved 
him  the  trouble.  And  yet  there  was  no  commonplace  so 
vulgar  that  the  warmth  of  his  heart  could  not  infuse  it  with 
fresh  meaning.  .  In  the  fine  words  of  the  late  Saint-Martin, 
the  radiance  of  his  smile  might  have  turned  the  mire  of  the 
highway  to  gold.  The  two  Maries,  following  one  of  the  best 
traditions  of  religious  education,  used  to  escort  their  master 
respectfully  to  the  door  of  the  suite  when  he  left.  There  the 
poor  girls  would  say  a  few  kind  words  to  him,  happy  in 
making  him  happy.  It  was  the  one  chance  they  had  of  exer- 
cising their  woman's  nature. 

Thus,  up  to  the  time  of  their  marriage,  music  became  for 
the  girls  a  life  within  life,  just  as,  we  are  told,  the  Russian 
peasant  takes  his  dreams  for  realities,  his  waking  life  for  a  rest- 
less sleep.  In  their  eagerness  to  find  some  bulwark' against  the 
rising  tide  of  pettiness  and  consuming  ascetic  ideas,  they  threw 
themselves  desperately  into  the  difficulties  of  the  musical  art. 
Melody,  harmony,  and  composition,  those  three  daughters  of 
the  skies,  rewarded  their  labors,  making  a  rampart  for  them 
with  their  aerial  dances,  while  the  old  Catholic  faun,  intoxi- 
cated by  music,  led  the  chorus.  Mozart,  Beethoven,  Haydn, 
Paesiello,  Cimarosa,  Hummel,  along  with  musicians  of  lesser 
rank,  developed  in  them  sensations  which  never  passed  be- 
yond the  modest  limit  of  their  veiled  bosoms,  but  which  went 
to  the  heart  of  that  new  world  of  fancy  whither  they  eagerly 
betook  themselves.  When  the  execution  of  some  piece  had 
been  brought  to  perfection,  they  would  clasp  hands  and  em- 
brace in  the  wildest  ecstasy.  The  old  master  called  them  his 
Saint  Cecilias. 

The  two  Maries  did  not  go  to  balls  till  they  were  sixteen, 
and  then  only  four  times  a  year,  to  a  few  selected  houses. 
They  only  left  their  mother's  side  when  well  fortified  with 


10  A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

rules  of  conduct,  so  strict  that  they  could  reply  nothing  but 
yes  and  no  to  their  partners.  The  eye  of  the  countess  never 
quitted  her  daughters  and  seemed  to  read  the  words  upon 
their  lips.  The  ball-dresses  of  the  poor  little  things  were 
models  of  decorum — high-necked  lawn  frocks,  with  an  extra- 
ordinary number  of  fluffy  frills  and  long  sleeves.  This  un- 
graceful costume,  which  concealed  instead  of  setting  off  their 
beauty,  reminded  one  of  an  Egyptian  mummy,  in  spite  of  two 
sweetly  pathetic  faces  which  peeped  out  from  the  mass  of 
cotton.  With  all  their  innocence,  they  were  furious  to  find 
themselves  the  objects  of  a  kindly  pity.  Where  is  the  woman, 
however  artless,  who  would  not  inspire  envy  rather  than  com- 
passion? The  white  matter  of  their  brains  was  unsoiled  by  a 
single  perilous,  morbid,  or  even  equivocal  thought;  their 
hearts  were  pure,  their  hands  were  frightfully  red ;  they  were 
bursting  with  health.  Eve  did  not  leave  the  hands  of  her 
Creator  more  guileless  than  were  these  two  girls  when  they 
left  their  mother's  home  to  go  to  the  mayor's  office  and  to  the 
church,  with  one  simple  but  awful  command  in  their  ears — to 
obey  in  all  things  the  man  by  whose  side  they  were  to  spend 
the  night,  awake  or  sleeping.  To  them  it  seemed  impossible 
that  they  should  suffer  more  in  the  strange  house  whither  they 
were  to  be  banished  than  in  the  maternal  convent. 

How  came  it  that  the  father  of  these  girls  did  nothing  to 
protect  them  from  so  crushing  a  despotism  ?  The  Comte  de 
Granville  had  a  great  reputation  as  a  judge,  able  and  incorrupt- 
ible, if  sometimes  a  little  carried  away  by  party  feeling. 
Unhappily,  by  the  terms  of  a  remarkable  compromise,  agreed 
upon  after  ten  years  of  married  life,  husband  and  wife  lived 
apart,  each  in  their  own  suite  of  apartments.  The  father, 
who  judged  the  repressive  system  less  dangerous  for  women 
than  for  men,  kept  the  education  of  his  boys  in  his  own 
hands,  while  leaving  that  of  the  girls  to  their  mother.  The 
two  Maries,  who  could  hardly  escape  the  imposition  of  some 
tyranny,  whether  in  love  or  marriage,  would  suffer  less  than 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  11 

boys,  whose  intelligence  ought  to  be  unfettered  and  whose 
natural  spirit  would  be  broken  by  the  harsh  constraint  of 
religious  dogma,  pushed  to  an  extreme.  Of  four  victims  the 
count  saved  two.  The  countess  looked  on  her  sons,  both 
destined  for  the  law — the  one  for  the  magistrature  assise,  the 
other  for  the  magistrature  amovible^ — as  far  too  badly  brought 
up  to  be  allowed  any  intimacy  with  their  sisters.  All  inter- 
course between  the  poor  children  was  strictly  guarded.  When 
the  count  took  his  boys  from  school  for  a  day  he  was  careful 
that  it  should  not  be  spent  in  the  house.  After  luncheon 
with  their  mother  and  sisters  he  would  find  something  to 
amuse  them  outside.  Restaurants,  theatres,  museums,  an 
expedition  to  the  country  in  summer-time,  were  their  treats. 
Only  on  important  family  occasions,  such  as  the  birthday  of  the 
countess  or  of  their  father,  New  Year's  Day,  and  prize-giving 
days,  did  the  boys  spend  day  and  night  under  the  paternal 
roof,  in  extreme  discomfort,  and  not  daring  to  kiss  their 
sisters  under  the  eye  of  the  countess,  who  never  left  them 
alone  together  for  an  instant.  Seeing  so  little  of  their 
brothers,  how  was  it  possible  the  poor  girls  should  feel  any 
bond  with  them?  On  these  days  it  was  a  perpetual,  "  Where 
is  Angelique?"  "What  is  Eugenie  about?"  "Where  can 
my  children  be?"  When  her  sons  were  mentioned,  the 
countess  would  raise  her  cold  and  sodden  eyes  to  heaven,  as 
though  imploring  pardon  for  having  failed  to  snatch  them 
from  ungodliness.  Her  exclamati6ns  and  her  silence  in  regard 
to  them  were  alike  eloquent  as  the  most  lamentable  verses  of 
Jeremiah,  and  the  girls  not  unnaturally  came  to  look  on  their 
brothers  as  hopeless  reprobates. 

The  count  gave  to  each  of  his  sons,  at  the  age  of  eighteen, 
a  couple  of  rooms  in  his  own  suite,  and  they  then  began  to 

*  The  magistrature  assise  consists  of  the  judges  who  sit  in  Court,  and 
are  appointed  for  life.  The  members  of  the  magistrature  aviovible  con- 
duct the  examination  and  prosecution  of  accused  persons.  They  address 
the  Court  standing,  and  are  not  appointed  for  life. 


12  A   DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

Study  law  under  the  direction  of  his  secretary,  a  barrister,  to 
whom  he  intrusted  the  task  of  initiating  them  into  the  mysteries 
of  their  profession. 

The  two  Maries,  therefore,  had  no  practical  knowledge  of 
what  it  is  to  have  a  brother.  On  the  occasion  of  their  sisters' 
weddings  it  happened  that  both  brothers  were  detained  at  a 
distance  by  important  cases :  the  one  having  then  a  post  as 
avocat-general^  at  a  distant  court,  while  the  other  was  making 
his  first  appearance  in  the  provinces.  In  many  families  the 
reality  of  that  home-life,  which  we  are  apt  to  picture  as  linked 
together  by  the  closest  and  most  vital  ties,  is  something  very 
different.  The  brothers  are  far  away,  engrossed  in  money- 
making,  in  pushing  their  way  in  the  world,  or  they  are  chained 
to  the  public  service ;  the  sisters  are  absorbed  in  a  vortex  of 
family  interests,  outside  their  own  circle.  Thus  the  different 
members  spend  their  lives  apart  and  indifferent  to  each  other, 
held  together  only  by  the  feeble  bond  of  memory.  If  on 
occasion  pride  or  self-interest  reunites  them,  just  as  often  these 
motives  act  in  the  opposite  sense  and  divide  them  in  heart,  as 
they  have  already  been  divided  in  life,  so  that  it  becomes  a 
rare  exception  to  find  a  family  living  in  one  home  and  ani- 
mated by  one  spirit.  Modern  legislation,  by  splitting  up  the 
family  into  units,  has  created  that  most  hideous  evil — the 
isolation  of  the  individual. 

Angelique  and  Eugenie,  amid  the  profound  solitude  in 
which  their  youth  glided  by,  saw  their  father  but  rarely,  and  it 
was  a  melancholy  face  which  he  showed  in  his  wife's  hand- 
some rooms  on  the  first-floor.  At  home,  as  on  the  bench,  he 
maintained  the  grave  and  dignified  bearing  of  the  judge. 
When  the  girls  had  passed  the  period  of  toys  and  dolls,  when 
they  were  beginning,  at  twelve  years  of  age,  to  think  for 
themselves,  and  had  given  up  making  fun  of  Schmucke,  they 
found  out  the  secret  of  the  cares  which  lined  the  count's  fore- 

*  The  term  is  applied  to  all  the  substitutes  of  the  procureur-giniral  or 
attorney-general. 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  18 

head.  Under  the  mask  of  severity  they  could  read  traces  of 
a  kindly,  lovable  nature.  He  had  yielded  to  the  church  his 
place  as  head  of  the  household,  his  hopes  of  wedded  happiness 
had  been  blighted,  and  his  father's  heart  was  wounded  in  its 
tenderest  spot — the  love  he  bore  his  daughters.  Sorrows  such 
as  these  rouse  strange  pity  in  the  breast  of  girls  who  have 
never  known  tenderness.  Sometimes  he  would  stroll  in  the 
garden  between  his  daughters,  an  arm  round  each  little  figure, 
fitting  his  pace  to  their  childish  steps ;  then  stopping  in  the 
shrubbery,  he  would  kiss  them,  one  after  the  other,  on  the 
forehead,  while  his  eyes,  his  mouth,  and  his  whole  expression 
breathed  the  deepest  pity. 

"You  are  not  very  happy,  my  darlings,"  he  said  on  one 
such  occasion  ;  "  but  I  shall  marry  you  off  early,  and  it  will 
be  a  good  day  for  me  when  I  see  you  take  wing." 

"Papa,"  said  Eugdnie,  "we  have  made  up  our  minds  to 
marry  the  first  man  who  offers." 

"And  this,"  he  exclaimed,  "is  the  bitter  fruit  of  such  a 
system.     In  trying  to  make  saints  of  them,  they " 

He  stopped.  Often  the  girls  were  conscious  of  a  passionate 
tenderness  in  their  father's  farewell,  or  in  the  way  he  looked 
at  them  when  by  chance  he  dined  with  their  mother.  This 
father,  whom  they  so  rarely  saw,  became  the  object  of  their 
pity,  and  whom  we  pity  we  love. 

The  marriage  of  both  sisters — welded  together  by  misfor- 
tune, as  Rita-Christina  was  by  nature — was  the  direct  result 
of  this  strict  conventual  training.  Many  men,  when  think- 
ing of  marriage,  prefer  a  girl  taken  straight  from  the  convent 
and  impregnated  with  an  atmosphere  of  devotion  to  one  who 
has  been  trained  in  the  school  of  society.  There  is  no 
medium.  On  the  one  hand  is  the  girl  with  nothing  left  to 
learn,  who  reads  and  discusses  the  papers,  who  has  spun 
round  ball-rooms  in  the  arms  of  countless  young  men,  who 
has  seen  every  play  and  devoured  every  novel,  whose  knees 
have  been  made  supple  by  a  dancing-master,  pressing  them 


14  A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

against  his  own,  who  does  not  trouble  her  head  about  religion 
and  has  evolved  her  own  morality;  on  the  other  is  the  guile- 
less, simple  girl  of  the  type  of  Marie-Angelique  and  Marie- 
Eugenie.  Possibly  the  husband's  risk  is  no  greater  in  the  one 
case  than  in  the  other,  but  the  immense  majority  of  men, 
who  have  not  yet  reached  the  age  of  Arnolphe,  would  choose 
a  saintly  Agnes  rather  than  a  budding  Celim^ne. 

The  two  Maries  were  identical  in  figure,  feet,  and  hands. 
Both  were  small  and  slight.  Eugenie,  the  younger,  was  fair 
like  her  mother;  Angelique,  dark  like  her  father.  But  they 
had  the  same  complexion — a  skin  of  that  mother-of-pearl 
white  which  tells  of  a  rich  and  healthy  blood  and  against 
which  the  carnation  stands  out  in  vivid  patches,  firm  in  tex- 
ture like  the  jasmine,  and  like  it  also,  delicate,  smooth,  and 
soft  to  the  touch.  The  blue  eyes  of  Eugenie,  the  brown  eyes 
of  Angelique,  had  the  same  nai've  expression  of  indifference 
and  unaffected  astonishment,  betrayed  by  the  indecisive 
wavering  of  the  iris  in  the  liquid  white.  Their  figures  were 
good ;  the  shoulders,  a  little  angular  now,  would  be  rounded 
by  time.  The  neck  and  bosom,  which  had  been  so  long 
veiled,  appeared  quite  startlingly  perfect  in  form,  when,  at 
the  request  of  her  husband,  each  sister  for  the  first  time  attired 
herself  for  a  ball  in  a  low-necked  dress.  What  blushes 
covered  the  poor  innocent  things,  so  charming  in  their  shame- 
facedness,  as  they  first  saw  themselves  in  the  privacy  of  their 
own  rooms;  nor  did  the  color  fade  all  evening  ! 

At  the  moment  when  this  story  opens,  with  the  younger 
Marie  consoling  her  weeping  sister,  they  are  no  longer  raw 
girls.  Each  had  nursed  an  infant — one  a  boy,  the  other  a 
girl — and  the  hands  and  arms  of  both  were  white  as  milk. 
Eugenie  had  always  seemed  something  of  a  madcap  to  her 
terrible  mother,  who  redoubled  her  watchful  care  and  severity 
on  her  behalf.  Angelique,  stately  and  proud,  had,  she  thought, 
a  soul  of  high  temper  fitted  to  guard  itself,  while  the  skittish 
Eugenie  seemed  to  demand  a  firmer  hand.     There  are  charm- 


A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  15 

ing  natures  of  this  kind,  misread  by  destiny,  whose  life  ought 
to  be  unbroken  sunshine,  but  who  live  and  die  in  misery, 
plagued  by  some  evil  genius,  the  victims  of  chance.  Thus  the 
sprightly,  artless  Eugenie  had  fallen  under  the  malign  des- 
potism of  a  parvenu  when  released  from  the  maternal  clutches. 
Angelique,  high-strung  and  sensitive,  had  been  sent  adrift  in 
the  highest  circles  of  Parisian  society  without  any  restraining 
curb. 


CHAPTER  II. 

SISTERLY   CONFIDENCES. 

Mme.  de  Vandenesse,  it  was  plain,  was  crushed  by  the 
burden  of  troubles  too  heavy  for  a  mind  still  unsophisticated 
after  six  years  of  marriage.  She  lay  at  length,  her  limbs 
flaccid,  her  body  bent,  her  head  fallen  anyhow  on  the  back  of 
the  lounge.  Having  looked  in  at  the  opera  before  hurrying 
to  her  sister's,  she  had  still  a  few  flowers  in  the  plaits  of  her 
hair,  while  others  lay  scattered  on  the  carpet,  together  with 
her  gloves,  her  mantle  of  fur-lined  silk,  her  muff"  and  her 
hood.  Bright  tears  mingled  with  the  pearls  on  her  white 
bosom  and  brimming  eyes  told  a  tale  in  gruesome  contrast  with 
the  luxury  around.  The  countess  had  no  heart  for  further 
words. 

"You  poor  darling,"  said  Mme.  du  Tillet,  "what  strange 
delusion  as  to  my  married  life  made  you  come  to  me  for 
help?" 

It  seemed  as  though  the  torrent  of  her  sister's  grief  had 
forced  these  words  from  the  heart  of  the  banker's  wife,  as 
melting  snow  will  set  free  stones  that  are  held  the  fastest  in 
the  river's  bed.  The  countess  gazed  stupidly  on  her  with 
fixed  eyes,  in  which  terror  had  dried  the  tears. 

"  Can  it  be  that  the  waters  have  closed  over  your  head  too, 
my  sweet  one?"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 


16  A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

"  Nay,  dear,  my  troubles  won't  lessen  yours." 

"But  tell  me  them,  dear  child.  Do  you  think  I  am  so 
sunk  in  self  already  as  not  to  listen  ?  Then  we  are  comrades 
again  in  suflfering  as  of  old  !  " 

"  But  we  suffer  apart,"  sadly  replied  Mme.  du  Tillet.  "  We 
live  in  opposing  camps.  It  is  my  turn  to  visit  the  Tuileries 
now  that  you  have  ceased  to  go.  Our  husbands  belong  to 
rival  parties.  I  am  the  wife  of  an  ambitious  banker,  a  bad, 
ever-scheming  man.  Your  husband,  sweetest,  is  kind,  noble, 
generous ' ' 

"Ah!  do  not  reproach  me,"  cried  the  countess.  "No 
woman  has  the  right  to  do  so,  who  has  not  suffered  the  weari- 
ness of  a  tame,  colorless  life  and  passed  from  it  straight  to 
the  paradise  of  love.  She  must  have  known  the  bliss  of  living 
her  whole  life  in  another,  of  espousing  the  ever-varying  emo- 
tions of  a  poet's  soul.  In  every  flight  of  his  imagination,  in 
all  the  efforts  of  his  ambition,  in  the  great  part  he  plays  upon 
the  stage  of  life,  she  must  have  borne  her  share,  suffering  in 
his  pain  and  mounting  on  the  wings  of  his  measureless  de- 
lights ;  and  all  this  while  never  losing  her  cold,  impassive 
demeanor  before  a  prying  world.  Yes,  dear,  a  tumult  of 
emotion  may  rage  within,  while  one  sits  by  the  fire  at  home, 
quietly  and  comfortably  like  this.  And  yet  what  joy  to  have 
at  every  instant  one  overwhelming  interest  which  expands  the 
heart  and  makes  it  live  in  every  fibre.  Nothing  is  indifferent 
to  you  ;  your  very  life  seems  to  depend  on  a  drive,  which 
gives  you  the  chance  of  seeing  in  the  crowd  the  one  man 
before  the  flash  of  whose  eye  the  sunlight  pales ;  you  tremble 
if  he  is  late,  and  could  strangle  the  bore  who  steals  from  you 
one  of  those  precious  moments  when  happiness  throbs  in  every 
vein  !  To  be  alive,  only  to  be  alive  is  rapture  !  Think  of 
it,  dear,  to  live,  when  so  many  women  would  give  the  world 
to  feel  as  I  do — and  cannot.  Remember,  child,  that  for  this 
poetry  of  life  there  is  but  one  season — the  season  of  youth. 
Soon,  very  soon,  will  come  the  chills  of  winter.     Oh  !  if  you 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  17 

were  rich  as  I  am  in  these  living  treasures  of  the  heart  and 
were  threatened  with  losing  them " 

Mme.  du  Tillet,  terrified,  had  hidden  her  face  in  her  hands 
during  this  wild  rhapsody.  At  last,  seeing  the  warm  tears  on 
her  sister's  cheek,  she  began — 

"  I  never  dreamed  of  reproaching  you,  my  darling.  Your 
words  have,  in  a  single  instant,  stirred  in  my  heart  more  burn- 
ing thoughts  than  all  my  tears  have  quenched,  for  indeed  the 
life  I  lead  might  well  plead  within  me  for  a  passion  such  as 
you  describe.  Let  me  cling  to  the  belief  that  if  we  had  seen 
more  of  each  other  we  should  not  have  drifted  to  this  point. 
The  knowledge  of  my  sufferings  would  have  enabled  you  to 
realize  your  own  happiness,  and  I  might  perhaps  have  learned 
from  you  courage  to  resist  the  tyranny  which  has  crushed  the 
sweetness  out  of  my  life.  Your  misery  is  an  accident  which 
chance  may  remedy,  mine  is  unceasing.  My  husband  neither 
has  real  affection  for  me  nor  does  he  trust  me.  I  am  a  mere 
peg  for  his  magnificence,  the  hall-mark  of  his  ambition,  a  tit- 
bit for  his  vanity. 

"  Ferdinand  " — and  she  struck  her  hand  upon  the  mantel- 
piece— **  is  hard  and  smooth  like  this  marble.  He  is  suspi- 
cious of  me.  If  I  ask  anything  for  myself  I  know  beforehand 
that  refusal  is  certain  ;  but  for  whatever  may  tickle  his  self- 
importance  or  advertise  his  wealth  I  have  not  even  to  express 
a  desire.  He  decorates  my  rooms,  and  spends  lavishly  on 
my  table ;  my  servants,  my  boxes  at  the  theatre,  all  the  trap- 
pings of  my  life  are  of  the  smartest.  He  grudges  nothing  to 
his  vanity.  His  children's  baby-linen  must  be  trimmed  with 
real  lace,  but  he  would  never  trouble  about  their  actual  needs, 
and  would  shut  his  ears  to  their  cries.  Can  you  understand 
such  a  state  of  things  ?  I  go  to  Court  loaded  with  diamonds, 
and  my  ornaments  are  of  the  most  costly  whenever  I  am  in 
society ;  yet  I  have  not  a  sou  of  my  own.  Madame  du  Tillet, 
whom  envious  onlookers  no  doubt  suppose  to  be  rolling  in 
wealth,  cannot  lay  her  hand  on  a  hundred  francs.  If  the 
2 


18  A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

father  cares  little  for  his  children,  he  cares  still  less  for  their 
mother.  Never  does  lie  allow  me  to  forget  that  I  have  been 
paid  for  as  a  chattel,  and  that  my  personal  fortune,  which  has 
never  been  in  my  possession,  has  been  filched  from  him.  If 
he  stood  alone  I  might  have  a  chance  of  fascinating  him,  but 
there  is  an  alien  influence  at  work.  He  is  under  the  thumb 
of  a  woman,  a  notary's  widow,  over  fifty,  but  who  still  reckons 
on  her  charms,  and  I  can  see  very  well  that  while  she  lives  I 
shall  never  be  free. 

"  My  whole  life  here  is  planned  out  like  a  sovereign's.  A 
bell  is  rujig  for  my  lunch  and  dinner  as  at  your  castle.  I 
never  miss  going  to  the  Bois  at  a  certain  hour,  accompanied 
by  two  footmen  in  full  livery,  and  returning  at  a  fixed  time. 
In  place  of  giving  orders,  I  receive  them.  At  balls  and  the 
theatre,  a  lackey  comes  up  to  me  saying,  '  Your  carriage 
waits,  madanie,'  and  I  have  to  go,  whether  I  am  enjoying  my- 
self or  not.  Ferdinand  would  be  vexed  if  I  did  not  carry  out 
the  code  of  rules  drawn  up  for  his  wife,  and  I  am  afraid  of 
him.  Surrounded  by  all  this  hateful  splendor,  I  sometimes 
look  back  with  regret,  and  begin  to  think  we  had  a  kind 
mother.  At  least  she  left  us  our  nights,  and  I  had  you  to  talk 
to.  In  my  sufferings,  then,  I  had  a  loving  companion,  but 
this  gorgeous  house  is  a  desert  to  me." 

It  was  for  the  countess  now  to  play  the  comforter.  As  this 
tale  of  misery  fell  from  her  sister's  lips  she  took  her  hand  and 
kissed  it  with  tears. 

"How  is  it  possible  for  me  to  help  you?"  Eugenie  went 
on  in  a  low  voice.  "If  he  were  to  find  us  together  he  would 
suspect  something.  He  would  want  to  know  what  we  had 
been  talking  about  this  hour,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  put  off  the 
scent  any  one  so  false  and  full  of  wiles.  He  would  be  sure  to 
lay  a  trap  for  me.  But  enough  of  my  troubles;  let  us  think 
of  you.  Your  forty  thousand  francs,  darling,  would  be  noth- 
ing to  Ferdinand.  He  and  the  Baron  de  Nucingen,  another 
of  these  rich  bankers,  are  accustomed  to  handle  millions. 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  19 

Sometimes  at  dinner  I  hear  them  talking  of  things  to  make 
your  flesh  creep.  Du  Tillet  knows  I  am  no  talker,  so  they 
speak  freely  before  me,  confident  that  it  will  go  no  further, 
and  I  can  assure  you  that  highway  murder  would  be  an 
act  of  mercy  compared  to  some  of  their  financial  schemes. 
Nucingen  and  he  makes  as  little  of  ruining  a  man  as  I  do  of 
all  their  display.  Among  the  people  who  come  to  see  me, 
often  there  are  poor  dupes  whose  affairs  I  have  heard  settled 
overnight,  and  who  are  plunging  into  speculations  which  will 
beggar  them.  How  I  long  to  act  Leonarde  in  the  brigands' 
cave,  and  cry,  '  Beware  ! '  But  what  would  become  of  me? 
I  hold  my  tongue,  but  this  luxurious  mansion  is  nothing  but  a 
den  of  cut-throats.  And  du  Tillet  and  Nucingen  scatter 
bank-notes  in  handfuls  for  any  whim  that  takes  their  fancy. 
Ferdinand  has  bought  the  site  of  the  old  castle  at  Tillet,  and 
intends  rebuilding  it,  and  then  adding  a  forest  and  magnifi- 
cent grounds.  He  says  his  son  will  be  a  count  and  his  grand- 
son a  peer.  Nucingen  is  tired  of  his  house  in  the  Rue  Saint- 
Lazare  and  is  having  a  palace  built.  His  wife  is  a  friend  of 
mine.  Ah  !  "  she  cried,  "she  might  be  of  use  to  us.  She  is 
not  in  awe  of  her  husband,  her  property  is  in  her  own  hands ; 
she  is  the  person  to  save  you." 

"Darling,"  cried  Mme.  de  Vandenesse,  throwing  herself 
into  her  sister's  arms  and  bursting  into  tears,  **  there  are  only 
a  few  hours  left.     Let  us  go  there  to-night,  this  very  instant." 

"How  can  I  go  out  at  eleven  o'clock  at  night?" 

"My  carriage  is  here." 

"  Well,  what  are  you  two  plotting  here  ?  "  It  was  du  Tillet 
who  threw  open  the  door  of  the  boudoir. 

A  false  geniality  lit  up  the  blank  countenance  which  met 
the  sisters'  gaze.  They  had  been  too  much  absorbed  in  talk- 
ing to  notice  the  wheels  of  du  Tillet's  carriage,  and  the 
thick  carpets  had  muffled  the  sound  of  his  steps.  The 
countess,  who  had  an  indulgent  husband  and  was  well  used  to 
society,  had  acquired  a  tact  and  address  such  as  her  sister, 


20  A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

passing  straight  from  a  mother's  to  a  husband's  yoke,  had  had 
no  opportunity  of  cultivating.  She  was  able  then  to  save  the 
situation,  which  she  saw  that  Eugenie's  terror  was  on  the  point 
of  betraying,  by  a  frank  reply. 

"  I  thought  my  sister  wealthier  than  she  is,"  she  said, 
looking  her  brother-in-law  in  the  face.  "  Women  sometimes 
get  into  difficulties  which  they  don't  care  to  speak  of  to  their 
husbands — witness  Napoleon  and  Josephine — and  I  came  to 
ask  a  favor  of  her." 

*'  There  will  be  no  difficulty  about  that.  Eugenie  is  a  rich 
woman,"  replied  du  Tillet,  in  a  tone  of  honeyed  acerbity. 

"Only  for  you,"  said  the  countess,  with  a  bitter  smile. 

**  How  much  do  you  want?  "  said  du  Tillet,  who  was  not 
sorry  at  the  prospect  of  getting  his  aristocratic  sister-in-law 
into  his  toils. 

**  How  dense  you  are  !  Didn't  I  tell  you  that  we  want  to 
keep  our  husbands  out  of  this?"  was  the  prudent  reply  of 
Mme.  de  Vandenesse,  who  feared  to  place  herself  at  the 
mercy  of  the  man  whose  character  had  by  good  luck  just  been 
sketched  by  her  sister.  *'I  shall  come  and  see  Eugenie  to- 
morrow." 

"To-morrow?  No,"  said  the  banker  coldly.  "Madame 
du  Tillet  dines  to-morrow  with  a  future  peer  of  the  realm. 
Baron  de  Nucingen,  who  is  resigning  to  me  his  seat  in  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies." 

"Won't  you  allow  her  to  accept  ray  box  at  the  opera?" 
said  the  countess,  without  exchanging  even  a  look  with  her 
sister,  in  her  terror  lest  their  secret  understanding  should  be 
betrayed. 

"Thank  you,  she  has  her  own,"  said  du  Tillet,  offended. 

"Very  well,  then,  I  shall  see  her  there,"  replied  the 
countess. 

"  It  will  be  the  first  time  you  have  done  us  that  honor," 
said  du  Tillet. 

The  countess  felt  the  reproach  and  began  to  laugh.. 


A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE,  21 

"Keep  your  mind  easy,  you  shan't  be  asked  to  pay  this 
time,"  she  said.     "Good-by,  darling." 

"  The  jade  !  "  cried  du  Tillet,  picking  up  the  flowers  which 
had  fallen  from  the  countess'  hair.  "  You  would  do  well," 
he  said  to  his  wife,  **  to  take  a  lesson  from  Madame  de  Vande- 
nesse.  I  should  like  to  see  you  as  saucy  in  society  as  she  was 
here  just  now.  Your  want  of  style  and  spirit  are  enough  to 
drive  a  man  wild." 

For  all  reply,  Eugenie  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven. 

"Well,  madame,  what  have  you  two  been  about  here?" 
said  the  banker  after  a  pause,  pointing  to  the  flowers.  "What 
has  happened  to  bring  your  sister  to  your  box  to-morrow?  " 

In  order  to  get  away  to  her  bedroom,  and  escape  the  cross- 
questioning  she  dreaded,  the  poor  thrall  made  an  excuse  of  be- 
ing sleepy.  But  du  Tillet  took  his  wife's  arm  and,  dragging 
her  back,  planted  her  before  him  beneath  the  full  blaze  of  the 
candles,  flaming  in  their  silver-gilt  branches  between  two 
beautiful  bunches  of  flowers.  Fixing  her  eyes  with  his  keen 
glance,  he  began  with  cold  deliberation. 

"Your  sister  came  to  borrow  forty  thousand  francs  to  pay 
the  debts  of  a  man  in  whom  she  is  interested,  and  who,  within 
three  days,  will  be  under  lock  and  key  in  the  Rue  de  Clichy. 
He's  too  precious  to  be  left  loose." 

The  miserable  woman  tried  to  repress  the  nervous  shiver 
which  ran  through  her. 

"You  gave  me  a  fright,"  she  said.  "But  you  know  that 
my  sister  has  too  much  principle  and  too  much  affection  for 
her  husband  to  take  that  sort  of  interest  in  any  man." 

"On  the  contrary,"  he  replied  drily.  " Girls  brought  up 
as  you  were,  in  a  very  strait-laced  and  puritan  fashion,  always 
pant  for  liberty  and  happiness,  and  the  happiness  they  have 
never  comes  up  to  what  they  imagined.  Those  are  the  girls 
that  make  bad  wives." 

"Speak  for  me  if  you  like,"  said  poor  Eugenie,  in  a  tone 
of  bitter  irony,  "but  respect  my  sister.     The  Comtesse  de 


22  A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

Vandenesse  is  too  happy,  too  completely  trusted  by  her  hus- 
band, not  to  be  attached  to  him.  Beside,  supposing  what  you 
say  were  true,  she  would  not  have  told  me." 

"  It  is  as  I  said,"  persisted  du  Tillet,  "  and  I  forbid  you  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  the  matter.  It  is  to  my  interest 
that  the  man  go  to  prison.     Let  that  suffice." 

Mme.  du  Tillet  left  the  room. 

"  She  is  sure  to  disobey  me,"  said  du  Tillet  to  himself,  left 
alone  in  the  boudoir,  "and  if  I  keep  my  eye  on  them  I  may 
be  able  to  find  out  what  they  are  up  to.  Poor  fools,  to  pit 
themselves  against  us  !  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  went  to  rejoin  his  wife,  or, 
more  properly  speaking,  his  slave. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   STORY   OF   A   HAPPY   WOMAN. 

The  confession  which  Mme.  Felix  de  Vandenesse  had  poured 
into  her  sister's  ear  was  so  intimately  connected  with  her 
history  during  the  six  preceding  years  that  a  brief  narrative 
of  the  chief  incidents  of  her  married  life  is  necessary  to  its 
understanding. 

Felix  de  Vandenesse  was  one  of  the  band  of  distinguished 
men  who  owed  their  fortune  to  the  Restoration,  till  a  short- 
sighted policy  excluded  them,  as  followers  of  Martignac,  from 
the  inner  circle  of  Government.  In  the  last  days  of  Charles 
X.  he  was  banished  with  some  others  to  the  Upper  Chamber ; 
and  this  disgrace,  though  in  his  eyes  only  temporary,  led  him 
to  think  of  marriage.  He  was  the  more  inclined  to  it  from  a 
sort  of  nausea  of  intrigue  and  gallantry  not  uncommon  with 
men  when  the  hour  of  youth's  gay  frenzy  is  past.  There 
comes  then  a  critical  moment  when  the  serious  side  of  social 
ties  makes  itself  felt.  Felix  de  Vandenesse  had  had  his  bright 
and  his  dark  hours,  but  the  latter  predominated,  as  is  apt  to 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  23 

be  the  case  with  a  man  who  has  quite  early  in  life  become 
acquainted  with  passion  in  its  noblest  form.  The  initiated 
become  fastidious.  A  long  experience  of  life  and  study  of 
character  reconciles  them  at  last  to  the  second  best,  when  they 
take  refuge  in  a  universal  tolerance.  Having  lost  all  illusions, 
they  are  proof  against  guile ;  yet  they  wear  their  cynicism 
with  a  grace,  and,  being  prepared  for  the  worst,  are  saved  the 
pangs  of  disappointment. 

In  spite  of  this,  Felix  still  passed  for  one  of  the  handsomest 
and  most  agreeable  men  in  Paris.  With  women  his  reputation 
was  largely  due  to  one  of  the  noblest  of  their  contemporaries, 
who  was  said  to  have  died  of  a  broken  heart  for  him  ;*  but  it 
was  the  beautiful  Lady  Dudley  who  had  the  chief  hand  in 
forming  him.  In  the  eyes  of  many  Paris  ladies  Felix  was  a 
hero  of  romance,  owing  not  a  few  of  his  conquests  to  his  evil 
repute.  Madame  de  Manerville  had  closed  the  chapter  of  his 
intrigues.  Although  not  a  Don  Juan,  he  retired  from  the 
world  of  love,  as  from  that  of  politics,  a  disillusioned  man. 
That  ideal  type  of  woman  and  of  love  which,  for  his  misfor- 
tune, had  brightened  and  dominated  his  youth,  he  despaired 
of  finding  again.  At  the  age  of  thirty.  Count  Felix  resolved 
to  cut  short  by  marriage  pleasures  which  had  begun  to  pall. 
On  one  point  he  was  determined  ;  he  would  have  none  but  a 
girl  trained  in  the  strictest  dogmas  of  Catholicism.  No  sooner 
did  he  hear  how  the  Comtesse  de  Granville  brought  up  her 
daughters  than  he  asked  for  the  hand  of  the  elder.  His  own 
mother  had  been  a  domestic  tyrant ;  and  he  could  still  re- 
member enough  of  his  dismal  childhood  to  descry,  through 
the  veil  of  maidenly  modesty,  what  eflfect  had  been  produced 
on  a  young  girl's  character  by  sucli  a  bondage,  to  see  whether 
she  were  sulky,  soured,  and  inclined  to  revolt,  or  had  re- 
mained sweet  and  loving,  responsive  to  the  voice  of  nobler 
feeling.  Tyranny  produces  two  results,  exactly  opposite  in 
character,  and  which  are  symbolized  in  those  two  great  types 
*  See  "  The  Lily  of  the  Valley." 


24  A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

of  the  slave  in  classical  times — Epictetus  and  Spartacus.  The 
one  is  hatred  with  its  evil  train,  the  other,  meekness  with  its 
Christian  graces.  The  Comte  de  Vandenesse  read  the  history 
of  his  life  again  in  Marie-Angelique  de  Granville. 

In  thus  choosing  for  wife  a  young  girl  in  her  fresh  inno- 
cence and  purity,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  beforehand,  as 
befitted  a  man  old  in  everything  but  years,  to  unite  paternal 
with  conjugal  affection.  He  was  conscious  that  in  him  poli- 
tics and  society  had  blighted  feeling,  and  that  he  had  only 
the  dregs  of  a  used-up  life  to  offer  in  exchange  for  one  in  the 
bloom  of  youth.  The  flowers  of  spring  would  be  matched 
with  winter  frosts,  hoary  experience  with  a  saucy,  impulsive 
waywardness.  Having  thus  impartially  taken  stock  of  his 
position,  he  intrenched  himself  in  his  married  quarters  with 
an  ample  store  of  provisions.  Indulgence  and  trust  were  his 
two  sheet-anchors.  Mothers  with  marriageable  daughters 
ought  to  look  out  for  men  of  this  stamp,  men  with  brains  to 
act  as  protecting  divinity,  with  worldly  wisdom  to  diagnose 
like  a  surgeon,  and  with  experience  to  take  a  mother's  place 
in  warding  off  evil.  These  are  the  three  cardinal  virtues  in 
matrimony. 

The  refinements  and  luxuries  to  which  his  habits  as  a  man 
of  fashion  and  of  pleasure  had  accustomed  Felix,  his  training 
in  affairs  of  State,  the  insight  of  a  life  alternately  devoted  to 
action,  reflection,  and  literature;  all  the  resources,  in  short, 
at  his  command  were  applied  intelligently  to  work  out  his 
wife's  happiness. 

Marie-Ang61ique  passed  at  once  from  the  maternal  purgatory 
to  the  wedded  paradise  prepared  for  her  by  Felix  in  their 
house  in  the  Rue  du  Rocher,  where  every  trifle  breathed  of 
distinction  at  the  same  time  that  the  conventions  of  fashion 
were  not  allowed  to  interfere  with  that  gracious  spontaneity 
natural  to  warm  young  hearts.  She  began  by  enjoying  to  the 
full  the  merely  material  pleasures  of  life,  her  husband  for  two 
years  acting  as  major-domo.     Felix  expounded  to  his  wife 


A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  25 

very  gradually  and  with  great  tact  the  facts  of  life,  initiated 
her  by  degrees  into  the  mysteries  of  the  best  society,  taught 
her  the  genealogies  of  all  families  of  rank,  instructed  her  in 
the  ways  of  the  world,  directed  her  in  the  arts  of  dress  and 
conversation,  took  her  to  all  the  theatres,  and  put  her  through 
a  course  of  literature  and  history.  He  carried  out  this  educa- 
tion with  the  assiduity  of  a  lover,  a  father,  a  master,  and  a 
husband  combined;  but  with  a  wise  discretion  he  allowed 
neither  amusement  nor  studies  to  undermine  his  wife's  faith. 
In  short,  he  acquitted  himself  of  his  task  in  a  masterly  manner, 
and  had  the  gratification  of  seeing  his  pupil,  at  the  end  of 
four  years,  one  of  the  most  charming  and  striking  women  of 
her  time. 

Marie-Angelique's  feelings  toward  her  husband  were  pre- 
cisely such  as  he  wished  to  inspire — true  friendship,  lively 
gratitude,  sisterly  affection,  with  a  dash  of  wifely  fondness  on 
occasion,  not  passing  the  due  limits  of  dignity  and  self-respect. 
She  was  a  good  mother  to  her  child. 

Thus  Felix,  without  any  appearance  of  coercion,  attached 
his  wife  to  himself  by  all  possible  ties,  reckoning  on  the  force 
of  habit  to  keep  his  heaven  cloudless.  Only  men  practiced 
in  worldly  arts  and  who  have  run  the  gamut  of  disillusion  in 
politics  and  love  have  the  knowledge  necessary  for  acting 
on  this  system.  Felix  found  in  it,  also,  the  pleasure  which 
painters,  authors,  and  great  architects  take  in  their  «rork, 
while  in  addition  to  the  artistic  delight  in  creation  he  had  the 
satisfaction  of  contemplating  the  result  and  admiring  in  his 
wife  a  woman  of  polished  but  unaffected  manners  and  an  un- 
forced wit,  a  maiden  and  a  mother,  modestly  attractive,  un- 
fettered and  yet  bound. 

The  history  of  a  happy  household  is  like  that  of  a  prosper- 
ous state ;  it  can  be  summed  up  in  half  a  dozen  words,  and 
gives  no  scope  for  fine  writing.  Moreover,  as  the  only  ex- 
planation of  happiness  is  the  fact  that  it  exists,  these  four 
years  present  nothing  but  the  gray  wash  of  an  eternal  love- 


26  A   DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

making,  insipid  as  manna,  and  as  exciting  as  the  romance  of 
Astraea. 

In  1833,  however,  this  edifice  of  happiness,  so  carefully 
put  together  by  Felix,  was  on  the  point  of  falling  to  the 
ground  ;  the  foundations  had  been  sapped  without  his  knowl- 
edge. The  fact  is  the  heart  of  a  woman  of  five-and-twenty 
is  not  that  of  a  girl  of  eighteen,  any  more  than  the  heart  of  a 
woman  of  forty  is  that  of  one  ten  years  younger.  A  woman's 
life  has  four  epochs  and  each  epoch  creates  a  new  woman. 
Vandenesse  was  certainly  not  ignorant  of  the  laws  which  de- 
termine this  development,  induced  by  our  modern  habits,  but 
he  neglected  to  apply  them  in  his  own  case.  Thus  the  sound- 
est grammarian  may  be  caught  tripping  when  he  turns  author ; 
the  greatest  general  on  the  field  of  battle,  under  stress  of  fire, 
and  at  the  mercy  of  the  accidents  of  the  ground,  will  cast  to 
the  winds  a  theoretic  rule  of  military  science.  The  man 
whose  action  habitually  bears  the  stamp  of  his  mind  is  a 
genius,  but  the  greatest  genius  is  not  always  equal  to  himself, 
or  he  would  cease  to  be  human. 

Four  years  had  passed  of  unruffled  calm,  four  years  of  tuneful 
concert  without  one  jarring  note.  The  countess,  under  these 
influences,  felt  her  nature  expanding  like  a  healthy  plant  in 
good  soil  under  the  warm  kisses  of  a  sun  shining  in  unclouded 
azure,  and  she  now  began  to  question  her  heart.  The  crisis 
in  her  life,  which  this  tale  is  to  unfold,  would  be  unintelligi- 
ble but  for  some  explanations  which  may  perhaps  extenuate 
in  the  eyes  of  women  the  guilt  of  this  young  countess,  happy 
wife  and  happy  mother,  who  at  first  sight  might  seem  inex- 
cusable. 

Life  is  the  result  of  a  balance  between  two  opposing  forces ; 
the  absence  of  either  is  injurious  to  the  creature.  Vandenesse, 
in  piling  up  satisfaction,  had  quenched  desire,  that  lord  of  the 
universe,  at  whose  disposal  lie  vast  stores  of  moral  energy. 
Extreme  heat,  extreme  suffering,  unalloyed  happiness,  like  all 
abstract  principles,  reign  over  a  barren  desert.     They  demand 


A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE.  27 

solitude,  and  will  suffer  no  existence  but  their  own.  Vande- 
nesse  was  not  a  woman,  and  it  is  women  only  who  know  the 
art  of  giving  variety  to  a  state  of  bliss.  Hence  their  coquetry^ 
their  coldness,  their  tremors,  their  tempers,  and  that  ingenu- 
ous battery  of  unreason,  by  which  they  demolish  to-day  what 
yesterday  they  found  entirely  satisfactory.  Constancy  in  a 
man  may  pall,  in  a  woman  never.  Vandenesse  was  too  thor- 
oughly good-hearted  to  wantonly  plague  the  woman  he  loved  ; 
the  heaven  into  which  he  plunged  her  could  not  be  too  ardent 
or  too  cloudless.  The  problem  of  perpetual  felicity  is  one 
the  solution  of  which  is  reserved  for  another  and  higher  world. 
Here  below,  even  the  most  inspired  of  poets  do  not  fail  to 
bore  their  readers  when  they  attempt  to  sing  of  Paradise. 
The  rock  on  which  Dante  split  was  to  be  the  ruin  also  of 
Vandenesse :  all  honor  to  a  desperate  courage  ! 

His  wife  began  at  last  to  find  so  well-regulated  an  Eden 
a  little  monotonous.  The  perfect  happiness  of  Eve  in  her 
terrestrial  paradise  produced  in  her  the  nausea  which  comes 
from  living  too  much  on  sweets.  A  longing  seized  her,  as  it 
seized  Rivarol  on  reading  Florian,  to  come  across  some  wolf 
in  the  sheepfold.  This,  it  appears,  has  been  the  meaning  in 
all  ages  of  that  symbolical  serpent  to  whom  the  first  woman 
made  advances,  some  day  no  doubt  when  she  was  feeling 
bored.  The  moral  of  this  may  not  commend  itself  to  certain 
Protestants  who  take  Genesis  more  seriously  than  the  Jews 
themselves,  but  the  situation  of  Mme.  de  Vandenesse  requires 
no  biblical  images  to  explain  it.  She  was  conscious  of  a  force 
within,  which  found  no  exercise.  She  was  happy,  but  her 
happiness  caused  her  no  pangs  ;  it  was  placid  and  uneventful ; 
she  was  not  haunted  by  the  dread  of  losing  it.  It  arrived 
every  morning  with  the  same  smile  and  sunshine,  the  same 
soft  words.  Not  a  zephyr's  breath  wrinkled  this  calm  ex- 
panse ;  she  longed  for  a  ripple  on  the  glassy  surface. 

There  was  something  childish  in  all  this,  which  may  partly 
excuse  her ;  but  society  is  no  more  lenient  in  its  judgments 


28  A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

than  was  the  Jehovah  of  Genesis.  The  countess  was  quite 
enough  woman  of  the  world  now  to  know  how  improper  these 
feelings  were,  and  nothing  would  have  induced  her  to  confide 
them  to  her  "darling  husband."  This  was  the  most  impas- 
sioned epithet  her  innocence  could  devise,  for  it  is  given  to 
no  one  to  forge  in  cold  blood  that  delicious  language  of  hyper- 
bole which  love  dictates  to  its  victims  at  the  stake.  Van- 
denesse,  pleased  with  this  pretty  reserve,  applied  his  arts  to 
keep  his  wife  within  the  temperate  zone  of  wedded  fervor. 
Moreover,  this  model  husband  wanted  to  be  loved  for  himself, 
and  judged  unworthy  of  an  honorable  man  those  tricks  of  the 
trade  which  might  have  imposed  upon  his  wife  or  awakened 
her  feeling.  He  would  owe  nothing  to  the  expedients  of 
wealth.  The  Comtesse  Marie  would  smile  to  see  a  shabby 
turn-out  in  the  Bois,  and  turn  her  eyes  complacently  to  her 
own  elegant  equipage  and  the  horses  which,  harnessed  in  the 
English  fashion,  moved  with  very  free  action  and  kept  their 
distance  perfectly.  Felix  would  not  stoop  to  gather  the  fruit 
of  all  his  labors ;  his  lavish  expenditure,  and  the  good  taste 
which  guided  it,  were  accepted  as  a  matter  of  course  by  his 
wife,  ignorant  that  to  them  she  owed  her  perfect  immunity 
from  vexations  or  wounding  comparisons.  It  was  the  same 
throughout.  Kindness  is  not  without  its  rocks  ahead.  People 
are  apt  to  put  it  down  to  an  easy  temper,  and  seldom  recognize 
it  as  the  secret  striving  of  a  generous  nature ;  whilst,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  ill-natured  get  credit  for  all  the  evil  they  re- 
frain from. 

About  this  period  Mme.  de  Vandenesse  was  sufficiently 
drilled  in  the  practices  of  society  to  abandon  the  insignificant 
part  of  timid  supernumerary,  all  eyes  and  ears,  which  even 
Grisi  is  said,  once  on  a  time,  to  have  played  in  the  choruses 
of  the  La  Scala  theatre.  The  young  countess  felt  herself 
equal  to  the  part  of  prima  donna  and  made  some  essays  in  it. 
To  the  great  satisfaction  of  F6lix,  she  began  to  take  her  share 
in  conversation.      Sharp  repartees  and  shrewd  reflections, 


A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE.  29 

which  were  the  fruit  of  talks  with  her  husband,  brought  her 
into  notice,  and  this  success  emboldened  her.  Vandenesse, 
whose  wife  had  always  been  allowed  to  be  pretty,  was  charmed 
when  she  showed  herself  clever  also.  On  her  return  from  the 
ball  or  concert  or  rout  where  she  had  shone,  Marie,  as  she 
laid  aside  her  finery,  would  turn  to  Felix  and  say  with  a  little 
air  of  prim  delight,  "  Please,  have  I  done  well  to-night  ?  " 

At  this  stage  the  countess  began  to  rouse  jealousy  in  the 
breasts  of  certain  women,  amongst  whom  was  the  Marquise 
de  Listomere,  her  husband's  sister,  who  hitherto  had  patron- 
ized Marie,  looking  on  her  as  a  good  foil  for  her  own  charms. 
Poor  innocent  victim  !  A  countess  with  the  sacred  name  of 
Marie,  beautiful,  witty,  and  good,  a  musician  and  not  a  flirt — 
no  wonder  society  whetted  its  teeth !  Felix  de  Vandenesse 
numbered  amongst  his  acquaintance  several  women  who — 
although  their  connection  with  him  was  broken  off,  whether 
by  their  own  doing  or  his — were  by  no  means  indifferent  to 
his  marriage.  When  these  ladies  saw  in  Marie  de  Vandenesse 
a  sheepish  little  woman  with  red  hands,  rather  silent,  and  to 
all  appearance  stupid  also,  they  considered  themselves  suffi- 
ciently avenged. 

Then  came  the  disasters  of  July,  1830,  and  for  the  space  of 
two  years  society  was  broken  up.  Rich  people  spent  the 
troubled  interval  on  their  estates  or  traveling  in  Europe ;  and 
the  salons  hardly  reopened  before  1833.  The  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain  sulked,  but  it  admitted  as  neutral  ground  a  few 
houses,  amongst  others  that  of  the  Ambassador  of  Austria. 
In  these  select  rooms  legitimist  society  and  the  new  society 
met,  represented  by  their  most  fashionable  leaders.  Van- 
denesse, though  strong  in  his  convictions  and  attached  by  a 
thousand  ties  of  sympathy  and  gratitude  to  the  exiled  family, 
did  not  feel  himself  bound  to  follow  his  party  in  its  stupid 
fanaticism.  At  a  critical  moment  he  had  performed  his  duty 
at  the  risk  of  life  by  breasting  the  flood  of  popular  fury  in 
order  to  propose  a  compromise.     He  could  afibrd  therefore 


30  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

to  take  his  wife  into  a  society  which  could  not  possibly  expose 
his  good  faith  to  suspicion. 

Vandenesse's  former  friends  hardly  recognized  the  young 
bride  in  the  graceful,  sparkling,  and  gentle  countess,  who 
took  her  place  with  all  the  breeding  of  the  high-born  lady. 
Mmes.  d'Espard  and  de  Manerville,  Lady  Dudley,  and  other 
ladies  of  less  distinction  felt  the  stirring  of  a  brood  of  vipers 
in  their  hearts  ;  the  dulcet  moan  of  angry  pride  piped  in 
their  ears.  The  happiness  of  Felix  enraged  them,  and  they 
would  have  given  a  brand-new  pair  of  shoes  to  do  him  an  ill 
turn.  In  place  of  showing  hostility  to  the  countess,  these 
amiable  intriguers  buzzed  about  her  with  protestations  of 
extreme  friendliness  and  sang  her  praises  to  their  male  friends. 
Felix,  who  perfectly  understood  their  little  game,  kept  his 
eye  upon  their  intercourse  with  Marie  and  warned  her  to  be 
upon  her  guard.  Divining,  every  one  of  them,  the  anxiety 
which  their  assiduity  caused  the  count,  they  could  not  pardon 
his  suspicions.  They  redoubled  their  flattering  attentions  to 
their  rival  and  in  this  way  contrived  an  immense  success  for 
her,  to  the  disgust  of  the  Marquise  de  Listomere,  who  was 
quite  in  the  dark  about  it  all.  The  Comtesse  Felix  de  Vande- 
nesse  was  everywhere  pointed  to  as  the  most  charming  and 
brilliant  woman  in  Paris;  and  Marie's  other  sister-in-law,  the 
Marquise  Charles  de  Vandenesse,  endured  many  mortifications 
from  the  confusion  produced  by  the  similarity  of  name  and 
the  comparisons  to  which  it  gave  rise.  For,  though  the  mar- 
quise was  also  a  handsome  and  clever  woman,  the  countess 
had  the  advantage  of  her  in  being  twelve  years  younger,  a 
point  of  which  her  rivals  did  not  fail  to  make  use.  They 
well  knew  what  bitterness  the  success  of  the  countess  would 
infuse  into  her  relations  with  her  sisters-in-law,  who,  indeed, 
were  most  chilling  and  disagreeable  to  Marie-Angelique  in  her 
triumph. 

And  so  danger  lurked  in  the  family,  enmity  in  friendship. 
It  is  well  known  how  the  literature  of  that  day  tried  to  over- 


A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  31 

come  the  indifference  of  the  public,  engrossed  in  the  exciting 
political  drama,  by  the  production  of  more  or  less  Byronic 
works,  exclusively  occupied  with  illicit  love  affairs.  Conjugal 
infidelity  furnished  at  this  time  the  sole  material  of  magazines, 
novels,  and  plays.  This  perennial  theme  came  more  than 
ever  into  fashion.  The  lover,  that  nightmare  of  the  husband, 
was  everywhere,  except  perhaps  in  the  family  circle,  which 
saw  less  of  him  during  that  reign  of  the  middle-class  than  at 
any  other  period.  When  the  streets  are  ablaze  with  light  and 
"  Stop  thief"  is  shouted  from  every  window,  it  is  hardly  the 
moment  robbers  choose  to  be  abroad.  If,  in  the  course  of 
those  years,  so  fruitful  in  civic,  political,  and  moral  upheavals, 
an  occasional  domestic  misadventure  took  place,  it  was  excep- 
tional and  attracted  less  notice  than  it  would  have  done  under 
the  Restoration.  Nevertheless,  women  talked  freely  among 
themselves  of  a  subject  in  which  both  lyric  and  dramatic 
poetry  then  reveled.  The  lover,  that  being  so  rare  and  so 
bewitching,  was  a  favorite  theme.  The  few  intrigues  which 
came  to  light  supplied  matter  for  such  conversation,  which, 
then  as  ever,  was  confined  to  women  of  unexceptionable  life. 
The  repugnance  to  this  sort  of  talk  shown  by  women  who 
have  a  stolen  joy  to  conceal  is  indeed  a  noteworthy  fact.  They 
are  the  prudes  of  society,  cautious,  and  even  bashful :,  their 
attitude  is  one  of  perpetual  appeal  for  silence  or  pardon.  On 
the  other  hand,  when  a  woman  takes  pleasure  in  hearing  of 
such  disasters  and  is  curious  about  the  temptations  which  lead 
to  them,  you  may  be  sure  she  is  halting  at  the  cross-roads, 
uncertain  and  hesitating. 

During  this  winter  the  Comtesse  de  Vandenesse  caught 
the  distant  roll  of  society's  thunder,  and  the  rising  storm 
whistled  about  her  ears.  Her  so-called  friends,  whose  repu- 
tations were  under  the  safeguard  of  exalted  rank  and  position, 
drew  many  sketches  of  the  irresistible  gallant  for  her  benefit, 
and  dropped  into  her  heart  burning  words  about  love,  the  one 
solution  of  life  for  women,  the  master  passion,  according  to 


32  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

Mme.  de  Stael,  who  did  not  speak  without  experience.  When 
the  countess,  in  a  friendly  conclave,  naively  asked  why  a  lover 
was  so  different  from  a  husband,  not  one  of  these  women 
failed  to  reply  in  such  a  way  as  to  pique  her  curiosity,  haunt 
her  imagination,  touch  her  heart,  and  interest  her  mind. 
They  burned  to  see  Vandenesse  in  trouble. 

"With  one's  husband,  dear,  one  simply  rubs  along;  with  a 
lover  it's  life,"  said  her  sister-in-law,  the  Marquise  de  Van- 
denesse. 

"  Marriage,  my  child,  is  our  purgatory,  love  is  paradise," 
said  Lady  Dudley. 

"  Don't  believe  her,"  cried  Mile,  des  Touches,  "  it's  hell !  " 

"Yes,  but  a  hell  with  love  in  it,"  observed  the  Marquise 
de  Rochefide.  "There  may  be  more  satisfaction  in  suffering 
than  in  an  easy  life.     Look  at  the  martyrs  !  " 

"Little  simpleton,"  said  the  Marquise  d'Espard,  "  in  mar- 
riage we  live,  so  to  speak,  our  own  life;  love  is  living  in 
another. ' ' 

"  In  short,  a  lover  is  the  forbidden  fruit,  and  that's  enough 
for  me  !  "  laughingly  spoke  the  pretty  Moina  de  Saint-Heren. 

When  there  were  no  diplomatic  at  homes,  or  balls  given  by 
wealthy  foreigners,  such  as  Lady  Dudley  or  the  Princesse  de 
Galathionne,  the  countess  went  almost  every  evening  after  the 
opera  to  one  of  the  few  aristocratic  drawing-rooms  still  open 
— whether  that  of  the  Marquise  d'Espard,  Mme.  de  Listo- 
mere.  Mile,  des  Touches,  the  Comtesse  de  Montcornet,  or  the 
Vicomtesse  de  Grandlieu.  Never  did  she  leave  these  gather- 
ings without  some  seeds  of  evil  scattered  in  her  soul.  She 
heard  talk  about  "completing  her  life,"  an  expression  much 
in  vogue  then,  or  about  being  "understood,"  another  word 
to  which  women  attach  marvelous  meanings.  She  would  re- 
turn home  uneasy,  pensive,  dreamy,  and  curious.  Her  life 
seemed  somehow  impoverished,  but  she  had  not  yet  gone  so 
far  as  to  feel  it  entirely  barren. 


A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE.  83 

CHAPTER  IV. 

A   MAN   OF  NOTE. 

The  most  lively,  but  also  the  most  mixed,  company  to  be 
found  in  any  of  the  houses  where  Mme.  de  Vandenesse 
visited  was  decidedly  that  which  met  at  the  Comtesse  de 
Montcornet's.  She  was  a  charming  little  woman  who  opened 
her  doors  to  distinguished  artists,  commercial  princes,  and 
celebrated  literary  men  ;  but  the  tests  to  which  she  submitted 
them  before  admission  were  so  rigorous  that  the  most  exclu- 
sive need  not  fear  rubbing  up  against  persons  of  an  inferior 
grade  ;  the  most  unapproachable  were  safe  from  pollution. 
During  the  winter,  society  (which  never  loses  its  rights,  and 
at  all  costs  will  be  amused)  began  to  rally  again,  and  a  few 
drawing-rooms — including  those  of  Mmes.  d'Espard  and  de 
Listomere,  of  Mile,  des  Touches,  and  of  the  Duchesse  de 
Grandlieu — had  picked  up  recruits  from  among  the  latest 
celebrities  in  art,  science,  literature,  and  politics.  At  a  con- 
cert given  by  the  Comtesse  de  Montcornet,  toward  the  end  of 
the  winter,  Raoul  Nathan,  a  well-known  name  in  literature 
and  politics,  made  his  entry,  introduced  by  Emile  Blondet, 
a  very  brilliant  but  also  very  indolent  writer.  Blondet  too 
was  a  celebrity,  but  only  among  the  initiated  few ;  much 
made  of  by  the  critics,  he  was  unknown  to  the  general  public. 
Blondet  was  perfectly  aware  of  this,  and  in  general  was  a  man 
of  few  illusions.  In  regard  to  fame,  he  said,  among  other 
disparaging  remarks,  that  it  was  a  poison  best  taken  in  small 
doses. 

Raoul  Nathan  had  a  long  struggle  before  emerging  to  the 
surface.      Having  reached  it,  he  had  at  once  made  capital  out 
of  that  sudden  craze  for  external  form  then  distinguishing  cer- 
tain exquisites,  who  swore  by  the  Middle  Ages,  and  were  hu- 
3 


34  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

morously  known  as  "  young  France."  He  adopted  the  eccen- 
tricities of  genius,  and  enrolled  himself  among  these  worshipers 
of  art,  whose  intentions  at  least  we  cannot  but  admire,  since 
nothing  is  more  absurd  than  the  dress  of  a  Frenchman  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  and  courage  was  needed  to  change  it. 
Raoul,  to  do  him  justice,  has  something  unusual  and  fantastic 
in  his  person,  which  seems  to  demand  a  setting.  His  enemies 
or  his  friends — there  is  little  to  choose  between  them — are 
agreed  that  nothing  in  the  world  so  well  matches  the  inner 
Nathan  as  the  outer.  He  would  probably  look  even  more  re- 
markable if  left  to  nature  than  he  is  when  touched  by  art.  His 
worn  and  wasted  features  suggest  a  wrestling  with  spirits,  good 
or  evil.  His  face  has  some  likeness  to  that  which  German 
painters  give  to  the  dead  Christ,  and  bears  innumerable  traces 
of  a  constant  struggle  between  weak  human  nature  and  the 
powers  on  high.  But  the  deep  hollows  of  his  cheeks,  the 
knobs  on  his  craggy  and  furrowed  skull,  the  cavities  round 
his  eyes  and  temples,  point  to  nothing  weak  in  the  constitu- 
tion. There  is  remarkable  solidity  about  the  tough  tissues 
and  prominent  bones;  and  though  the  skin,  tanned  by  excess, 
sticks  to  them  as  though  parched  by  some  fire  within,  it  none 
the  less  covers  a  massive  framework.  He  is  tall  and  thin. 
His  long  hair,  which  always  needs  brushing,  aims  at  effect. 
He  is  a  Byron,  badly  groomed  and  badly  put  together,  with 
legs  like  a  heron's,  congested  knees,  an  exaggeratedly  small 
waist,  a  hand  with  muscles  of  whip-cord,  the  grip  of  a  crab's 
claw,  and  lean,  nervous  fingers. 

Raoul's  eyes  are  Napoleonic,  blue  and  soul-piercing;  his 
nose  is  sensitive  and  finely  chiseled,  his  mouth  charming  and 
adorned  with  teeth  white  enough  to  excite  a  woman's  envy. 
There  is  life  and  fire  in  the  head,  genius  on  the  brow.  Raoul 
belongs  to  the  small  number  of  men  who  would  not  pass  un- 
noticed in  the  street,  and  who,  in  a  drawing-room,  at  once  form 
a  centre  of  light,  drawing  all  eyes.  He  attracts  attention  by 
his  neglige,  if  one  may  borrow  from  Molidre  the  word  used  by 


A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  35 

Eliante  to  describe  personal  slovenliness.  His  clothes  look 
as  though  they  had  been  pulled  about,  frayed  and  crumpled 
on  purpose  to  harmonize  with  his  countenance.  He  habitually 
thrusts  one  hand  into  his  open  vest  in  the  pose  which  Girodet's 
portrait  of  Chateaubriand  has  made  famous,  but  not  so  much 
for  the  sake  of  copying  Chateaubriand  (he  would  disdain  to 
copy  any  one)  as  to  take  the  stiffness  out  of  his  shirt-front. 
His  tie  becomes  all  in  a  moment  a  mere  wisp,  from  a  trick  he 
has  of  throwing  back  his  head  with  a  sudden  convulsive  move- 
ment, like  that  of  a  race-horse  champing  its  bit  and  tossing  its 
head  in  the  effort  to  break  loose  from  bridle  and  curb.  His 
long,  pointed  beard  is  very  different  from  that  of  the  dandy, 
combed,  brushed,  scented,  sleek,  shaped  like  a  fan  or  cut  into 
a  peak  ;  Nathan's  is  left  entirely  to  nature.  His  hair,  caught 
in  by  his  coat-collar  and  tie,  and  lying  thick  upon  his  shoul- 
ders, leaves  a  grease  spot  wherever  it  rests.  His  dry,  stringy 
hands  are  innocent  of  nail-brush  or  the  luxury  of  a  lemon. 
There  are  even  journalists  who  declare  that  only  on  rare  occa- 
sions is  their  grimy  skin  laved  in  baptismal  waters. 

In  a  word,  this  awe-inspiring  Raoul  is  a  caricature.  He 
moves  in  a  jerky  way,  as  though  propelled  by  some  faulty 
machinery ;  and  when  walking  the  boulevards  of  Paris  he 
offends  all  sense  of  order  by  impetuous  zigzags  and  unexpected 
halts,  which  bring  him  into  collision  with  peaceful  citizens  as 
they  stroll  along.  His  conversation,  full  of  caustic  humor 
and  stinging  epigrams,  imitates  the  gait  of  his  body ;  of  a 
sudden  it  will  drop  the  tone  of  fury  to  become,  for  no  apparent 
reason,  gracious,  dreamy,  soothing,  and  gentle;  then  come 
unaccountable  pauses  or  mental  somersaults,  which  at  times 
grow  fatiguing.  In  society  he  does  not  conceal  an  unblushing 
awkwardness,  a  scorn  of  convention,  and  an  attitude  of  criti- 
cism toward  things  usually  held  in  respect  there,  which  make 
him  objectionable  to  plain  people,  as  well  as  to  those  who 
strive  to  keep  up  the  traditions  of  old-world  courtliness.  Yet, 
after  all,  he  is  an  oddity,  like  a  Chinese  image,  and  women 


86  A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

have  a  weakness  for  such  things.  Beside,  with  women  he 
often  puts  on  an  air  of  elaborate  suavity,  and  seems  to  take  a 
pleasure  in  making  them  forget  his  grotesque  exterior,  and  in 
vanquishing  their  antipathy.  This  is  a  salve  to  his  vanity, 
his  self-esteem,  and  his  pride. 

"Why  do  you  behave  so?"  said  the  Marquise  de  Vande- 
nesse  to  him  one  day. 

"  Are  not  pearls  found  in  oyster  shells?  "  was  the  pompous 
reply. 

To  some  one  else,  who  put  a  similar  question,  he  an- 
swered— 

*'  If  I  made  myself  agreeable  to  every  one,  what  should  I 
have  left  for  her  whom  I  design  to  honor  supremely?" 

Raoul  Nathan  carries  into  his  intellectual  life  the  irregularity 
which  he  has  made  his  badge.  Nor  is  the  device  misleading : 
like  poor  girls,  who  go  out  as  maids-of-all-work  in  humble 
homes,  he  can  turn  his  hand  to  anything.  He  began  with 
serious  criticism,  but  soon  became  convinced  that  this  was  a 
losing  trade.  His  articles,  he  said,  cost  as  much  as  books. 
The  profits  of  the  theatre  attracted  him,  but,  incapable  of  the 
slow,  sustained  labor  involved  in  putting  anything  on  the 
boards,  he  was  driven  to  ally  himself  with  du  Bruel,  who 
worked  up  his  ideas  and  converted  them  into  light  paying 
pieces  with  plenty  of  humor,  and  composed  in  view  of  some 
particular  actor  or  actress.  Between  them  they  unearthed 
Florine,  a  popular  actress. 

Ashamed,  however,  of  this  Siamese-like  union,  Nathan 
unaided,  brought  out  at  the  Theatre-Frangais  a  great  drama, 
which  fell  with  all  the  honors  of  war  amidst  salvoes  from  the 
artillery  of  the  press.  In  his  youth  he  had  already  tried  the 
theatre  which  represents  the  fine  traditions  of  the  French 
drama  with  a  splendid  romantic  play  in  the  style  of  "  Pinto," 
and  this  at  a  time  when  classicism  held  undisputed  sway.  The 
result  was  that  the  Odeon  became  for  three  nights  the  scene 
of  such  disorder  that  the   piece  had  to   be  stopped.     The 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  37 

second  play,  no  less  then  the  first,  seemed  to  many  people  a 
masterpiece,  and  it  won  for  him,  though  only  within  the 
select  world  of  judges  and  connoisseurs,  a  far  higher  reputa- 
tion than  the  light  remunerative  pieces  at  which  he  worked 
with  others. 

"  One  more  such  failure,"  said  Emile  Blondet,  "and  you 
will  be  immortal." 

But  Nathan,  instead  of  sticking  to  this  arduous  path,  was 
driven  by  stress  of  poverty  to  fall  back  upon  more  profitable 
work,  such  as  the  production  of  spectacular  pieces  or  of  an 
eighteenth-century  powder  and  patches  vaudeville  and  the 
adaptation  of  popular  novels  to  the  stage.  Nevertheless,  he  was 
still  counted  as  a  man  of  great  ability,  whose  last  word  had 
not  yet  been  heard.  He  made  an  excursion  also  into  pure 
literature  and  published  three  novels,  not  reckoning  those 
which  he  kept  going  in  the  press,  like  fishes  in  an  aquarium. 
As  often  happens,  when  a  writer  has  stuff  in  him  for  only  one 
work,  the  first  of  these  three  was  a  brilliant  success.  Its 
author  rashly  put  it  at  once  in  the  front  rank  of  his  works  as 
an  artistic  creation,  and  lost  no  opportunity  of  getting  it 
puffed  as  the  "  finest  book  of  the  period,"  the  "  novel  of  the 
century." 

Yet  he  complained  loudly  of  the  exigencies  of  art,  and  did 
as  much  as  any  man  toward  having  it  accepted  as  the  one 
standard  for  all  kinds  of  creative  work — painting,  sculpture, 
literature,  architecture.  He  had  begun  by  perpetrating  a 
book  of  verse,  which  won  him  a  place  in  the  pleiad  of  poets 
of  the  day,  and  which  contained  one  obscure  poem  that  was 
greatly  admired.  Compelled  by  straitened  circumstances  to 
go  on  producing,  he  turned  from  the  theatre  to  the  press,  and 
from  the  press  back  to  the  theatre,  breaking  up  and  scattering 
his  powers,  but  with  unshaken  confidence  in  his  inspiration. 
He  did  not  suffer,  therefore,  from  lack  of  a  publisher  for  his 
fame,  differing  in  this  from  certain  celebrities,  whose  flicker- 
ing flame  is  kept  from  extinction  by  the  titles  of  books  still  in 


88  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

the  future,  for  which  a  public  will  be  a  more  pressing  necessity 
than  a  new  edition, 

Nathan  came  near  to  being  a  genius,  and,  had  destiny 
crowned  his  ambition  by  marching  him  to  the  scaffold,  he 
would  have  been  justified  in  striking  his  forehead  after  Andr6 
de  Ch6nier.  The  sudden  accession  to  power  of  a  dozen 
authors,  professors,  metaphysicians,  and  historians  fired  him 
with  emulation,  and  he  regretted  not  having  devoted  his  pen 
to  politics  rather  than  to  literature.  He  believed  himself  supe- 
rior to  these  upstarts,  who  had  foisted  themselves  on  to  the 
party-machine  during  the  troubles  of  1830-3  and  whose  for- 
tune now  filled  him  with  consuming  envy.  He  belonged  to 
the  type  of  man  who  covets  everything  and  looks  on  all  suc- 
cess as  a  fraud  on  himself,  who  is  always  stumbling  on  some 
luminous  track  but  settles  down  nowhere,  drawing  all  the 
while  on  the  tolerance  of  his  neighbors.  At  this  moment  he 
was  traveling  from  Saint-Simonism  to  Republicanism,  which 
might  serve,  perhaps,  as  a  stage  to  Ministerialism.  His  eye 
swept  every  corner  for  some  bone  to  pick,  some  safe  shelter 
whence  he  might  bark  beyond  the  reach  «f  kicks,  and  make 
himself  a  terror  to  the  passers-by.  He  had,  however,  the 
mortification  of  finding  himself  not  taken  seriously  by  the 
great  de  Marsay,  then  at  the  head  of  affairs,  who  had  a  low 
opinion  of  authors  as  lacking  in  what  Richelieu  called  the 
logical  spirit,  or  rather  in  coherence  of  ideas.  Beside,  no 
minister  could  have  failed  to  reckon  on  Raoul's  constant 
pecuniary  difficulties  which,  sooner  or  later,  would  drive  him 
into  the  position  of  accepting  rather  than  imposing  conditions. 

Raoul's  real  and  studiously  suppressed  character  accords 
with  that  which  he  shows  to  the  public.  He  is  carried  away 
by  his  own  acting,  declaims  with  great  eloquence,  and  could 
not  be  more  self-centred  were  he,  like  Louis  XIV.,  the  State 
in  person.  None  knows  better  how  to  play  at  sentiment  or 
to  deck  himself  out  in  a  shoddy  greatness.  The  grace  of 
moral  beauty  and  the  language  of  self-respect  are  at  his  com- 


A   DAUGHTER   OF  EVE.  39 

mand,  he  is  a  very  Alceste  in  pose,  while  acting  like  Philinte. 
His  selfishness  ambles  along  under  cover  of  this  painted  card- 
board, and  not  seldom  attains  the  end  he  has  in  view.  Ex- 
cessively idle,  he  never  works  except  under  the  prick  of 
necessity.  Continuous  labor  applied  to  the  construction  of  a 
lasting  fabric  is  beyond  his  conception  ;  but  in  a  paroxysm  of 
rage,  the  result  of  wounded  vanity,  or  in  some  crisis  precipi- 
tated by  his  creditors,  he  will  leap  the  Eurotas  and  perform 
miracles  of  mental  forestallment ;  after  which,  worn  out  and 
amazed  at  his  own  fertility,  he  falls  back  into  the  enervating 
dissipations  of  Paris  life.  Does  necessity  once  more  threaten, 
he  has  no  strength  to  meet  it ;  he  sinks  a  step  and  traffics 
with  his  honor.  Impelled  by  a  false  idea  of  his  talents  and 
his  future,  founded  on  the  rapid  rise  of  one  of  his  old  com- 
rades (one  of  the  few  cases  of  administrative  ability  brought 
to  light  by  the  Revolution  of  July),  he  tries  to  regain  his 
footing  by  taking  liberties  with  his  friends,  which  are  nothing 
short  of  a  moral  outrage,  though  they  remain  buried  among 
the  skeletons  of  private  life,  without  a  word  of  comment  or 
blame. 

His  heart  devoid  of  nicety,  his  shameless  hand,  hail-fellow- 
well-met  with  every  vice,  every  degradation,  every  treachery, 
every  party,  have  placed  him  as  much  beyond  reach  of  attack 
as  a  constitutional  king.  The  peccadillo,  which  would  raise 
hue  and  cry  after  a  man  of  high  character,  counts  for  nothing 
in  him ;  while  conduct  bordering  on  grossness  is  barely 
noticed.  In  making  his  excuses  people  find  their  own.  The 
very  man  who  would  fain  despise  him  shakes  him  by  the  hand, 
fearing  to  need  his  help.  So  numerous  are  his  friends  that  he 
would  prefer  enemies.  This  surface  good-nature  which  capti- 
vates a  new  acquaintance  and  is  no  bar  to  treachery,  which 
knows  no  scruple  and  is  never  at  fault  for  an  excuse,  which 
makes  an  outcry  at  the  wound  which  it  condones,  is  one  of 
the  most  distinctive  features  of  the  journalist.  This  camara- 
derie (the  word  is  a  stroke  of  genius)  corrodes  the  noblest 


40  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

minds;  it  eats  into  their  pride  like  rust,  kills  the  germ  of 
great  deeds,  and  lends  a  sanction  to  moral  cowardice.  There 
are  men  who,  by  exacting  this  general  slackness  of  conscience, 
get  themselves  absolved  for  playing  the  traitor  and  the  turn- 
coat. Thus  it  is  that  the  most  enlightened  portion  of  the 
nation  becomes  the  least  worthy  of  respect. 

From  the  literary  point  of  view  Nathan  is  deficient  in  style 
and  information.  Like  most  young  aspirants  in  literature  he 
gives  out  to-day  what  he  learned  yesterday.  He  has  neither 
the  time  nor  the  patience  to  make  an  author.  He  does  not 
use  his  own  eyes,  but  can  pick  up  from  others,  and,  while  he 
fails  in  producing  a  vigorously  constructed  plot,  he  sometimes 
covers  this  defect  by  the  fervor  he  throws  into  it.  He  "went 
in  "  for  passion,  to  use  a  slang  word,  because  there  is  no  limit 
to  the  variety  of  modes  in  which  passion  may  express  itself, 
while  the  task  of  genius  is  to  sift  out  from  these  various  ex- 
pressions the  element  in  each  which  will  appeal  to  every  one 
as  natural.  His  heroes  do  not  stir  the  imagination  ;  they  are 
magnified  individuals,  exciting  only  a  passing  sympathy ;  they 
have  no  connection  with  the  wider  interests  of  life,  and  there- 
fore stand  for  nothing  but  themselves.  Yet  the  author  saves 
himself  by  means  of  a  ready  wit  and  of  those  lucky  hits  which 
billiard-players  call  "  flukes."  He  is  the  best  man  for  a  flying 
shot  at  the  ideas  which  swoop  down  upon  Paris,  or  which 
Paris  starts.  His  teeming  brain  is  not  his  own,  it  belongs  to 
the  period.  He  lives  upon  the  event  of  the  day,  and,  in  order 
to  get  all  he  can  from  it,  exaggerates  its  bearing.  In  short, 
we  miss  the  accent  of  truth,  his  words  ring  false;  there  is 
something  of  the  juggler  in  him,  as  Count  F6lix  said.  One 
feels  that  his  pen  has  dipped  in  the  ink  of  an  actress*  dressing- 
room. 

In  Nathan  we  find  an  image  of  the  literary  youth  of  the 
day,  with  their  sham  greatness  and  real  poverty ;  he  represents 
their  irregular  charm  and  their  terrible  falls,  their  life  of  seeth- 
ing cataracts,  sudden  reverses,  and  unlooked-for  triumphs.    He 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  41 

is  a  true  child  of  this  jealousy-ridden  age,  in  which  a  thousand 
personal  rivalries,  cloaking  themselves  under  the  name  of 
schools,  make  profit  out  of  their  failures  by  feeding  fat  with 
them  a  hydra-headed  anarchy;  an  age  which  expects  fortune 
without  work,  glory  without  talent,  and  success  without  effort, 
but  which,  after  many  a  revolt  and  skirmish,  is  at  last  brought 
by  its  vices  to  swell  the  civil  list,  in  submission  to  the  powers 
that  be.  When  so  many  young  ambitions  start  on  foot  to 
meet  at  the  same  goal,  there  must  be  competing  wills,  fright- 
ful destitution,  and  a  relentless  struggle.  In  this  merciless 
combat  it  is  the  fiercest  or  the  adroitest  selfishness  which 
wins.  The  lesson  is  not  lost  on  an  admiring  world ;  spite  of 
bawling,  as  Moliere  would  say,  it  acquits  and  follows  suit. 

When,  in  his  capacity  of  opponent  to  the  new  dynasty, 
Raoul  was  introduced  to  Mme.  de  Montcornet's  drawing- 
room  his  spacious  greatness  was  at  its  height.  He  was  recog- 
nized as  the  political  critic  of  the  de  Marsays,  the  Rastignacs, 
and  the  la  Roche-Hugons,  who  constituted  the  party  in  power. 
His  sponsor,  Emile  Blondet,  handicapped  by  his  fatal  inde- 
cision and  dislike  of  action  where  his  own  affairs  were  con- 
cerned, stuck  to  his  trade  of  scoffer  and  took  sides  with  no 
party,  while  on  good  terms  with  all.  He  was  the  friend  of 
Raoul,  of  Rastignac,  and  of  Montcornet. 

"You  are  a  political  triangle,"  said  de  Marsay,  with  a 
laugh,  when  he  met  him  at  the  opera;  "  that  geometrical  form 
is  the  peculiar  property  of  the  deity,  who  can  afford  to  be  idle ; 
but  a  man  who  wants  to  get  on  should  adopt  a  curve,  which  is 
the  shortest  road  in  politics." 

Beheld  from  afar,  Raoul  Nathan  was  a  resplendent  meteor. 
The  fashion  of  the  day  justified  his  manner  and  appearance. 
His  pose  as  a  Republican  gave  him,  for  the  moment,  that 
puritan  ruggedness  assumed  by  champions  of  the  popular  cause, 
men  whom  Nathan  in  his  heart  derided.  This  is  not  without 
attraction  for  women,  who  love  to  perform  prodigies,  such  as 
shattering  rocks,  melting  an  iron  will.     Raoul's  moral  cos- 


42  A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

tume,  therefore,  was  in  keeping  with  the  external.  He  was 
bound  to  be,  and  he  was,  for  this  Eve,  listless  in  her  paradise 
of  the  Rue  du  Rocher,  the  insidious  serpent,  bright  to  the  eye 
and  flattering  to  the  ear,  with  magnetic  gaze  and  graceful 
motion,  who  ruined  the  first  woman. 

Marie,  on  seeing  Raoul,  at  once  felt  that  inward  shock,  the 
violence  of  which  is  almost  terrifying.  This  would-be  great 
man,  by  a  mere  glance,  sent  a  thrill  right  through  tp  her  heart, 
causing  a  delicious  flutter  there.  The  regal  mantle  which 
fame  had  for  the  moment  draped  on  Nathan's  shoulders  daz- 
zled this  simple-minded  woman.  When  tea  came  Marie  left 
the  group  of  chattering  women,  among  whom  she  had  stood 
silent  since  the  appearance  of  this  wonderful  being — a  fact 
which  did  not  escape  her  so-called  friends.  The  countess 
drew  near  the  ottoman  in  the  centre  of  the  room  where  Raoul 
was  perorating.  She  remained  standing,  her  arm  linked  in 
that  of  Mme.  Octave  de  Camps,  an  excellent  woman,  who  kept 
the  secret  of  the  nervous  quivering  by  which  Marie  betrayed 
her  strong  emotion.  Despite  the  sweet  magic  distilled  from 
the  eye  of  the  woman  who  loves  or  is  startled  into  self-betrayal, 
Raoul  was  just  then  entirely  occupied  with  a  regular  display 
of  fireworks.  He  was  far  too  busy  letting  off  epigrams  like 
rockets,  winding  and  unwinding  indictments  like  catherine- 
wheels,  and  tracing  blazing  portaits  in  lines  of  fire,  to  notice 
the  naTve  admiration  of  a  little  Eve,  lost  in  the  crowd  of 
women  surrounding  him.  The  love  of  novelty  which  would 
bring  Paris  flocking  to  the  Zoological  Gardens,  if  a  unicorn 
had  been  brought  there  from  those  famous  Mountains  of  the 
Moon,  virgin  yet  of  European  tread,  intoxicates  minds  of  a 
lower  stamp,  as  much  as  it  saddens  the  truly  wise.  Raoul  was 
enraptured  and  far  too  much  engrossed  with  women  in  general 
to  pay  attention  to  one  woman  in  particular. 

**  Take  care,  dear,  you  had  better  come  away,"  her  fair 
companion,  sweetest  of  women,  whispered  to  Marie. 

The  countess  turned  to  her  husband  and,  with  one  of  those 


A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE.  43 

speaking  glances  which  husbands  are  sometimes  slow  in  inter- 
preting, begged  for  his  arm.     Felix  led  her  away. 

"Well,  you  are  in  luck,  my  good  friend,"  said  Mme. 
d'Espard  in  Raoul's  ear.  "You've  done  execution  in  more 
than  one  quarter  to-night,  and,  best  of  all,  with  that  charming 
countess  who  has  just  left  us  so  abruptly." 

"Do  you  know  what  the  Marquise  d'Espard  meant?" 
asked  Raoul  of  Blondet,  repeating  the  great  lady's  remark, 
when  almost  all  the  other  guests  had  departed,  between  one 
and  two  in  the  morning. 

"  Why,  yes,  I  have  just  heard  that  the  Comtesse  de  Van- 
denesse  has  fallen  wildly  in  love  with  you.     Lucky  dog !  " 

"  I  did  not  see  her,"  said  Raoul. 

"Ah  !  but  you  will  see  her,  you  rascal,"  said  Emile  Blon- 
det, laughing.  "  Lady  Dudley  has  invited  you  to  her  great 
ball  with  the  very  purpose  of  bringing  about  a  meeting." 

Raoul  and  Blondet  left  together,  and  joining  Rastignac, 
who  offered  them  a  place  in  his  carriage,  the  three  made  merry 
over  this  conjunction  of  an  eclectic  under-secretary  of  State 
with  a  fierce  Republican  and  a  political  skeptic. 

"  Suppose  we  sup  at  the  expense  of  law  and  order?"  said 
Blondet,  who  had  a  fancy  for  reviving  the  old-fashioned 
supper. 

Rastignac  took  them  to  Very's,  and  dismissed  his  carriage ; 
the  three  then  sat  down  to  table  and  set  themselves  to  pull 
to  pieces  their  contemporaries  amidst  Rabelaisian  laughter. 
During  the  course  of  supper  Rastignac  and  Blondet  urged 
their  counterfeit  opponent  not  to  neglect  the  magnificent  op- 
portunity thrown  in  his  way.  The  story  of  Marie  de  Van- 
denesse  was  caricatured  by  these  two  profligates,  who  applied 
the  scalpel  of  epigram  and  the  keen  edge  of  mockery  to  that 
transparent  childhood,  that  happy  marriage.  Blondet  con- 
gratulated Raoul  on  having  found  a  woman  who  so  far  had 
been  guilty  only  of  execrable  red-chalk  drawings  and  feeble 
water-color  landscapes,  of  embroidering  slippers  for  her  hus- 


44  A  daughter:  of  eve. 

band,  and  performing  sonatas  with  a  most  lady-like  absence 
of  passion  ;  a  woman  who  had  been  tied  for  eighteen  years  to 
her  mother's  apron-strings,  pickled  in  devotion,  trained  by 
Vandenesse,  and  cooked  to  a  turn  by  marriage  for  the  palate 
of  love.  At  the  third  bottle  of  champagne  Raoul  Nathan 
became  more  expansive  than  he  had  ever  shown  himself  before. 

''  My  dear  friends,"  he  said,  "  you  know  my  relations  with 
Florine,  you  know  my  life,  you  will  not  be  surprised  to  hear 
me  confess  that  I  have  never  yet  seen  the  color  of  a  countess' 
love.  It  has  often  been  a  humiliating  thought  to  me  that  only 
in  poetry  could  I  find  a  Beatrice,  a  Laura  !  A  pure  and  noble 
woman  is  like  a  spotless  conscience,  she  raises  us  in  our  own 
estimation.  Elsewhere  we  may  be  soiled,  with  her  we  keep 
our  honor,  pride,  and  purity.  Elsewhere  life  is  a  wild  frenzy, 
with  her  we  breathe  the  peace,  the  freshness,  the  bloom  of  the 
oasis." 

"Come,  come,  my  good  soul,"  said  Rastignac,  "shift  the 
prayer  of  Moses  on  to  the  high  notes,  as  Paganini  does." 

Raoul  sat  speechless  with  fixed  and  besotted  eyes.  At  last 
he  opened  his  mouth. 

"  This  beast  of  a  'prentice  minister  does  not  understand 
me!" 

Thus,  whilst  the  poor  Eve  of  the  Rue  du  Rocher  went  to 
bed,  swathed  in  shame,  terrified  at  the  delight  which  had  filled 
her  while  listening  to  this  poetic  pretender,  hovering  between 
the  stern  voice  of  gratitude  to  Vandenesse  and  the  flattering 
tongue  of  the  serpent,  these  three  shameless  spirits  trampled 
on  the  tender  white  blossoms  of  her  opening  love.  Ah  !  if 
women  knew  how  cynical  those  men  can  be  behind  their 
backs,  who  show  themselves  all  meekness  and  cajolery  when 
by  their  side !  if  they  knew  how  they  mock  their  idols ! 
Fresh,  lovely,  and  timid  creature,  whose  charms  lie  at  the 
mercy  of  some  graceless  buffoon  !  And  yet  she  triumphs  I 
The  more  the  veils  are  rent,  the  clearer  her  beauty  shines. 

Marie  at  this  moment  was  comparing  Raoul  and  F6lix,  all- 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  45 

ignorant  of  the  danger  to  her  heart  in  such  a  process.  No 
better  contrast  could  be  found  to  the  robust  and  unconven- 
tional Raoul  than  Felix  de  Vandenesse,  with  his  clothes  fit- 
ting like  a  glove,  the  finish  of  a  fine  lady  in  his  person,  his 
charming  natural  ease  {dismvolturd),  combined  with  a  touch 
of  English  refinement,  picked  up  from  Lady  Dudley.  A  con- 
trast like  this  pleases  the  fancy  of  a  woman,  ever  ready  to  fly 
from  one  extreme  to  another.  The  countess  was  too  well- 
principled  and  pious  not  to  forbid  her  thoughts  dwelling  on 
Raoul,  and  next  day,  in  the  heart  of  her  paradise,  she  took 
herself  to  task  for  base  ingratitude. 

''What  do  you  think  of  Raoul  Nathan?"  she  asked  her 
husband  during  lunch. 

*' He  is  a  charlatan,"  replied  the  count;  "one  of  those 
volcanoes  which  a  sprinkling  of  gold-dust  will  keep  tranquil. 
The  Comtesse  de  Montcornet  ought  not  to  have  had  him  at 
her  house." 

This  reply  was  the  more  galling  to  Marie  because  Felix, 
who  knew  the  literary  world  well,  supported  his  verdict  with 
proofs  drawn  from  the  life  of  Raoul — a  life  of  shifts,  in 
which  Florine,  a  well-known  actress,  played  a  large  part. 

"  Granting  the  man  has  genius,'*  he  concluded,  '*  he  is 
without  the  patience  and  persistency  which  make  genius  a 
thing  apart  and  sacred.  He  tries  to  impress  people  by  assum- 
ing a  position  which  he  cannot  live  up  to.  That  is  not  the 
behavior  of  really  able  men  and  students  ;  if  they  are  honor- 
able men  they  stick  to  their  own  line,  and  don't  try  to  hide 
their  rags  under  frippery." 

A  woman's  thought  has  marvelous  elasticity  ;  it  may  sink 
under  a  blow,  to  all  appearance  crushed,  but  in  a  given  time 
it  is  up  again,  as  though  nothing  had  happened. 

"Felix  must  be  right,"  was  the  first  thought  of  the 
countess. 

Three  days  later,  however,  her  mind  traveled  back  to  the 
tempter,  allured  by  that  sweet  yet  ruthless  emotion  which  it 


46  A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

was  the  mistake  of  Vandenesse  not  to  have  aroused.  The 
count  and  countess  went  to  Lady  Dudley's  great  ball,  where 
dc  Marsay  made  his  last  appearance  in  society.  Two  months 
later  he  died,  leaving  the  reputation  of  a  statesman  so  pro- 
found that,  as  Blondet  said,  he  was  unfathomable.  Here 
Vandenesse  and  his  wife  again  met  Raoul  Nathan,  amid  a 
concourse  of  people  made  remarkable  by  the  number  of  actors 
in  the  political  drama  whom,  to  their  mutual  surprise,  it 
brought  together. 

It  was  one  of  the  chief  social  functions  in  the  great  world. 
The  reception-rooms  offered  a  magic  picture  to  the  eye. 
Flowers,  diamonds,  shining  hair,  the  plunder  of  countless 
jewel-cases,  every  art  of  the  toilet — all  contributed  to  the 
effect.  The  room  might  be  compared  to  one  of  those  show 
hot-houses  where  wealthy  amateurs  collect  the  most  marvelous 
varieties.  There  was  the  same  brilliancy,  the  same  delicacy 
of  texture.  It  seemed  as  though  the  art  of  man  would  com- 
pete also  with  the  animal  world.  On  all  sides  fluttered  gauze, 
white  or  painted  like  the  wings  of  prettiest  dragon-fly,  crepe, 
lace,  blonde,  tulle,  pucked,  puffed,  or  notched,  vying  in 
eccentricity  of  form  with  the  freaks  of  nature  in  the  insect 
tribe.  There  were  spider's  threads  in  gold  or  silver,  clouds 
of  silk,  flowers  which  some  fairy  might  have  woven  or 
imprisoned  spirit  breathed  into  life  ;  feathers,  whose  rich  tints 
told  of  a  tropical  sun,  drooping  willow-like  over  haughty 
heads ;  ropes  of  pearls,  drapery  in  broad  folds,  ribbed  or 
slashed,  as  though  the  genius  of  arabesque  had  presided  over 
French  millinery. 

This  splendor  harmonized  with  the  beauties  gathered  to- 
gether as  though  to  form  a  "  keepsake."  The  eye  roamed 
over  a  wealth  of  fair  shoulders  in  every  tone  of  white  that 
man  could  conceive — some  amber-tinted,  others  glistening 
like  some  glazed  surface  or  glossy  as  satin,  others,  again,  of  a 
rich  lustreless  color  which  the  brush  of  Rubens  might  have 
mixed.     Then  the  eyes,  sparkling  like  onyx  stones  or  tiir- 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  47 

quoises,  with  their  dark  velvet  edging  or  fair  fringes ;  and 
profiles  of  every  contour,  recalling  the  noblest  types  of  dif- 
ferent lands.  There  were  brows  lofty  with  pride  ;  rounded 
brows,  index  of  thought  within  ;  level  brows,  the  seat  of  an 
indomitable  will.  Lastly — most  bewitching  of  all  in  a  scene 
of  such  studied  splendor — necks  and  bosoms  in  the  rich  vo- 
luptuous folds,  adored  by  George  IV.,  or  with  the  more  del- 
icate modeling  which  found  favor  in  the  eighteenth  century 
and  at  the  court  of  Louis  XV.;  but  all,  whatever  the  type, 
frankly  exhibited,  either  without  drapery  or  through  the 
dainty  plaited  tuckers  of  Raphael's  portraits,  supreme  triumph 
of  his  laborious  pupils.  Prettiest  of  feet,  itching  for  the 
dance,  figures  yielding  softly  to  the  embrace  of  the  waltz, 
roused  the  most  apathetic  to  attention  ;  murmurings  of  gentle 
voices,  rustling  dresses,  whispering  partners,  vibrations  of  the 
dance,  made  a  fantastic  burden  to  the  music. 

A  fairy's  wand  might  have  called  forth  this  witchery,  be- 
wildering to  the  senses,  the  harmony  of  scents,  the  rainbow 
tints  flashing  in  the  crystal  candelabra,  the  blaze  of  the  can- 
dles, the  mirrors  which  repeated  the  scene  on  every  side. 
The  groups  of  lovely  women  in  costly  attire  stood  out  against 
a  dark  background  of  men,  where  might  be  observed  the  deli- 
cate, regular  features  of  the  aristocracy,  the  tawny  mustache 
of  the  sedate  Englishman,  the  gay,  smiling  countenance  of 
the  French  noble.  Every  European  order  glittered  in  the 
room,  some  hanging  from  a  collar  on  the  breast,  others  dan- 
gling by  the  side. 

To  a  watchful  observer  the  scene  presented  more  than  this 
gaily  decorated  surface.  It  had  a  soul;  it  lived,  it  thought,  ^ 
it  felt,  it  found  expression  in  the  hidden  passions  which  now 
and  again  forced  their  way  to  the  surface.  Now  it  would  be 
an  interchange  of  malicious  glances;  now  some  fair  young 
girl,  carried  away  by  excitement  and  novelty,  would  betray 
a  touch  of  passion ;  jealous  women  talked  scandal  behind 
their   fans   and   paid   each   other   extravagant  compliments. 


48  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

Society,  decked  out,  curled,  and  perfumed,  abandoned  itself 
to  that  frenzy  of  the  f6te  which  goes  to  the  head  like  the 
fumes  of  wine.  From  every  brow,  as  from  every  heart, 
seemed  to  emanate  sensations  and  thoughts,  which,  forming 
together  one  potent  influence,  inflamed  the  most  cold- 
blooded. 

It  was  the  most  exciting  moment  of  this  entrancing  even- 
ing. In  a  corner  of  the  gilded  drawing-room,  where  a  few 
bankers,  ambassadors,  and  retired  ministers,  together  with 
that  old  reprobate,  Lord  Dudley  (an  unexpected  arrival), 
were  seated  at  play,  Mme.  Felix  de  Vandenesse  found  herself 
unable  to  resist  the  impulse  to  enter  into  conversation  with 
Nathan.  She,  too,  may  have  been  yielding  to  that  ballroom 
intoxication  which  has  wrung  many  a  confession  from  the 
lips  of  the  most  coy. 

The  sight  of  this  splendid  pageant  of  a  world  to  which  he 
was  still  a  stranger  stung  Nathan  to  the  heart  with  redoubled 
ambition.  He  looked  at  Rastignac,  whose  brother,  at  the 
age  of  twenty-seven,  had  just  been  made  a  bishop,  and  whose 
brother-in-law,  Martial  de  la  Roche-Hugon,  held  office,  while 
he  himself  was  an  under-secretary  of  State,  and  about  to  marry, 
as  rumor  said,  the  only  daughter  of  the  Baron  de  Nucingen. 
He  saw  among  the  members  of  the  diplomatic  body  an  obscure 
writer  who  used  to  translate  foreign  newspapers  for  a  journal 
that  passed  over  to  the  reigning  dynasty  after  1830;  he  saw 
leader-writers  members  of  the  Council  and  professors  peers  of 
France.  And  he  perceived,  with  bitterness,  that  he  had  taken 
the  wrong  road  in  preaching  the  overthrow  of  an  aristocracy 
which  counted  among  its  ornaments  the  true  nobility  of  fortu- 
nate talent  and  successful  scheming.  Blondet,  though  still  a 
mere  journalistic  hack,  was  made  much  of  in  society,  and  had 
it  yet  in  his  power  to  strike  the  road  to  fortune  by  means  of 
his  intimacy  with  Mme.  de  Montcornet.  Blondet,  therefore, 
with  all  his  ill-luck,  was  a  striking  example  in  Nathan's  eyes 
of  .the  importance  of  having  friends  in  high  places.     In  the 


A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  49 

depths  of  his  heart  he  resolved  upon  following  the  example  of 
men  like  de  Marsay,  Rastignac,  Blondet,  and  Talleyrand,  the 
leader  of  the  sect.  He  would  throw  conviction  to  the  winds, 
paying  allegiance  only  to  accomplished  facts,  which  he  would 
wrest  to  his  own  advantage  ;  no  system  should  be  to  him  more 
than  an  instrument ;  and  on  no  account  would  he  upset  the 
balance  of  a  society  so  admirably  constructed,  so  decorative, 
and  so  consonant  with  nature. 

"My  future,"  he  said  to  himself,  "is  in  the  hands  of  a 
woman  belonging  to  the  great  world." 

Full  of  this  thought,  the  outcome  of  a  frantic  cupidity, 
Nathan  pounced  upon  the  Comtesse  de  Vandenesse  like  a 
hawk  upon  its  prey.  She  was  looking  charming  in  a  head- 
dress of  marabout  feathers,  which  produced  the  delicious 
melting  effect  of  Lawrence's  portraits,  well  suited  to  her 
gentle  character.  The  fervid  rhapsodies  of  the  poet,  crazed 
by  ambition,  carried  the  sweet  creature  quite  off  her  feet. 
Lady  Dudley,  whose  eye  was  everywhere,  secured  the  Ute-d- 
Ute  by  handing  over  the  Comte  de  Vandenesse  to  Mme.  de 
Manerville.  It  was  the  first  time  the  parted  lovers  had  spoken 
face  to  face  since  their  rupture.  The  woman,  strong  in  the 
habit  of  ascendency,  caught  Felix  in  the  toils  of  a  coquettish 
controversy,  with  plenty  of  blushing  confidences,  regrets  deftly 
cast  like  flowers  at  his  feet,  and  recriminations,  where  self- 
defense  was  intended  to  stimulate  reproach. 

Whilst  her  husband's  former  mistress  was  raking  among  the 
ashes  of  dead  joys  to  find  some  spark  of  life,  Mme.  Felix  de 
Vandenesse  experienced  those  violent  heart-throbs  which  as- 
sail a  woman  with  the  certainty  of  going  astray  and  treading 
forbidden  paths.  These  emotions  are  not  without  fascination, 
and  rouse  many  dormant  faculties.  Now,  as  in  the  days  of 
Blue  Beard,  all  women  love  to  use  the  blood-stained  key, 
that  splendid  mythological  symbol  which  is  one  of  Perrault's 
glories. 

The  dramatist,  who  knew  his  Shakespeare,  unfolded  the 
4 


60  A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

tale  of  his  hardships,  described  his  struggle  with  men  and 
things,  opened  up  glimpses  of  his  unstable  success,  his  political 
genius  wasting  in  obscurity,  his  life  unblessed  by  any  generous 
affection.  Without  a  word  directly  to  that  effect,  he  conveyed 
to  this  gracious  lady  the  suggestion  that  she  might  play  for 
him  the  noble  part  of  Rebecca  in  "Ivanhoe,"  might  love  and 
shelter  him.  Not  a  syllable  overstepped  the  pure  regions  of 
sentiment.  The  blue  of  the  forget-me-not,  the  white  of  the 
lily,  are  not  more  pure  than  were  his  flowers  of  rhetoric  and 
the  things  signified  by  them ;  the  radiance  of  a  seraph  lighted 
the  brow  of  this  artist,  who  might  yet  utilize  his  discourse 
with  a  publisher.  He  acquitted  himself  well  of  the  serpent's 
part,  and  flashed  before  the  eyes  of  the  countess  the  tempting 
colors  of  the  fatal  fruit.  Marie  left  the  ball  consumed  by 
remorse,  which  was  akin  to  hope,  thrilled  by  compliments 
flattering  to  her  vanity,  and  agitated  to  the  remotest  corner 
of  her  heart.  Her  very  goodness  was  her  snare ;  she  could 
not  resist  her  own  pity  for  the  unfortunate. 

Whether  Mme.  de  Manerville  brought  Vandenesse  to  the 
room  where  his  wife  was  talking  with  Nathan,  whether  he 
came  there  of  his  own  accord,  or  whether  the  conversation 
had  roused  in  him  a  slumbering  pain,  the  fact  remains,  what- 
ever the  cause,  that,  when  his  wife  came  to  ask  for  his  arm, 
she  found  him  gloomy  and  abstracted.  The  countess  was 
afraid  she  had  been  seen.  As  soon  as  she  was  alone  with 
Felix  in  the  carriage,  she  threw  him  a  smile  full  of  meaning, 
and  began — 

*'  Was  not  that  Madame  de  Manerville  with  whom  you  were 
talking,  dear?" 

F6lix  had  not  yet  gotten  clear  of  the  thorny  ground,  through 
which  his  wife's  neat  little  attack  marched  him,  when  the 
carriage  stopped  at  their  door.  It  was  the  first  stratagem 
prompted  by  love.  Marie  was  delighted  to  have  gotten  the 
better  of  a  man  whom  till  then  she  thought  so  superior.  She 
tasted  for  the  first  time  the  joy  of  victory  at  a  critical  moment. 


A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE.  61 

CHAPTER  V. 

FLORINE. 

In  a  passage  between  the  Rue  Basse-du-Rempart  and  the 
Rue  Neuve-des-Mathurins,  Raoul  had  one  or  two  bare,  cold 
rooms  on  the  fourth  floor  of  a  thin,  ugly  house.  This  was  his 
abode  for  the  general  public,  for  literary  novices,  creditors, 
intruders,  and  the  whole  race  of  bores  who  were  not  allowed 
to  cross  the  threshold  of  private  life.  His  real  home,  which 
was  the  stage  of  his  wider  life  and  public  appearances,  he 
made  with  Florine,  a  second-rate  actress  who,  ten  years  before, 
had  been  raised  to  the  rank  of  a  great  dramatic  artist  by  the 
combined  efforts  of  Nathan's  friends,  the  newspaper  critics, 
and  a  few  literary  men. 

For  ten  years  Raoul  had  been  so  closely  attached  to  this 
woman,  that  he  spent  half  his  life  in  her  house,  taking  his 
meals  there  whenever  he  had  no-  engagements  outside  nor 
friends  to  entertain.  Florine,  to  a  finished  depravity,  added 
a  very  pretty  wit,  which  constant  intercourse  with  artists  and 
daily  practice  had  developed  and  sharpened.  Wit  is  generally 
supposed  to  be  a  rare  quality  among  actors.  It  seems  an  easy 
inference  that  those  who  spend  their  lives  in  bringing  the  out- 
side to  perfection  should  have  little  left  with  which  to  furnish 
the  interior.  But  any  one  who  considers  the  small  number  of 
actors  and  actresses  in  a  century,  compared  with  the  quantity 
of  dramatic  authors  and  attractive  women  produced  by  the 
same  population,  will  see  reason  to  dispute  this  notion.  It 
rests,  in  fact,  on  the  common  assumption  that  personal  feeling 
must  disappear  in  the  imitative  expression  of  passion,  whereas 
the  real  fact  is  that  intelligence,  memory,  and  imagination  are 
the  only  powers  employed  in  such  imitation.  Great  artists 
are  those  who,  according  to  Napoleon's  definition,  can  inter- 
cept at  will  the  communication  established  by  nature  between 


52  A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

sensation  and  thought.  Molicre  and  Talma  loved  more  pas- 
sionately in  their  old  age  than  is  usual  with  ordinary  mortals. 

Florine's  position  forced  her  to  listen  to  the  talk  of  alert  and 
calculating  journalists  and  to  the  prophecies  of  garrulous 
literary  men,  while  keeping  an  eye  on  certain  politicians  who 
used  her  house  as  a  means  of  profiting  by  the  sallies  of  her 
guests.  The  mixture  of  angel  and  demon  which  she  embodied 
made  her  a  fitting  hostess  for  these  profligates,  who  reveled 
in  her  impudence  and  found  unfailing  amusement  in  the  per- 
versity of  her  mind  and  heart. 

Her  house,  enriched  with  offerings  from  admirers,  displayed 
in  its  exaggerated  magnificence  an  entire  regardlessness  of 
cost.  Women  of  this  type  set  a  purely  arbitrary  value  on  their 
possessions ;  in  a  fit  of  temper  they  will  smash  a  fan  or  a  scent- 
bottle  worthy  of  a  queen,  and  they  will  be  inconsolable  if 
anything  happens  to  a  ten-franc  basin  which  their  lap-dogs 
drink  out  of.  The  dining-room,  crowded  with  rare  and  costly 
gifts,  may  serve  as  a  specimen  of  the  regal  and  insolent  pro- 
fusion of  the  establishment. 

The  whole  room,  including  the  ceiling,  was  covered  with 
carved  oak,  left  unstained,  and  set  off  with  lines  of  dull  gold. 
In  the  panels,  encircled  by  groups  of  children  playing  with 
chimeras,  were  placed  the  lights,  which  illuminated  here  a 
rough  sketch  by  Decamps ;  there  a  plaster  angel  holding  a 
basin  of  holy  water,  a  present  from  Antonin  Moine ;  further 
on  a  dainty  picture  of  Eugene  Deveria ;  the  sombre  figure  of 
some  Spanish  alchemist  by  Louis  Boulanger;  an  autograph 
letter  from  Lord  Byron  to  Caroline  in  an  ebony  frame,  carved 
by  Elschoet,  with  a  letter  of  Napoleon  to  Josephine  to  match 
it.  The  things  were  arranged  without  any  view  to  symmetry, 
and  yet  with  a  sort  of  unstudied  art ;  the  whole  effect  took 
one,  as  it  were,  by  storm.  There  was  a  union  of  carelessness 
and  a  desire  to  please,  such  as  can  only  be  found  in  the  homes 
of  artists.  The  exquisitely  carved  mantelpiece  was  bare  ex- 
cept for  a  whimsical  Florentine  statue  in  ivory,  attributed  to 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  63 

Michael  Angelo,  representing  a  Pan  discovering  a  woman  dis- 
guised as  a  young  herd,  the  original  of  which  is  at  the  Treasury 
in  Vienna.  On  either  side  of  this  hung  an  iron  candelabrum, 
the  work  of  some  Renaissance  chisel.  A  Boule  timepiece  on 
a  tortoise-shell  bracket,  lacquered  with  copper  arabesques, 
glittered  in  the  middle  of  a  panel  between  two  statuettes, 
survivals  from  some  ruined  abbey.  In  the  corners  of  the  room 
on  pedestals  stood  gorgeously  resplendent  lamps — the  fee  paid 
by  some  maker  to  Florine  for  trumpeting  his  wares  among  her 
friends,  who  were  assured  that  Japanese  pots,  with  rich  fit- 
tings, made  the  only  possible  stand  for  lamps.  On  a  mar- 
velous whatnot  lay  a  display  of  silver,  well-earned  trophy  of  a 
combat  in  which  some  English  lord  had  been  forced  to  ac- 
knowledge the  superiority  of  the  French  nation.  Next  came 
porcelain  reliefs.  The  whole  room  displayed  the  charming 
profusion  of  an  artist  whose  furniture  represents  all  his 
capital. 

The  bedroom,  in  violet,  was  a  young  ballet-girl's  dream : 
velvet  curtains,  lined  with  silk,  were  draped  over  inner  folds 
of  tulle ;  the  ceiling  was  in  white  cashmere  relieved  with  violet 
silk  ;  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  lay  an  ermine  rug ;  within  the 
bed-curtains,  which  fell  in  the  form  of  an  inverted  lily,  hung 
a  lantern  by  which  to  read  the  proofs  of  next  day's  papers. 
A  yellow  drawing-room,  enriched  with  ornaments  the  color 
of  Florentine  bronze,  carried  out  the  same  impression  of  mag- 
nificence, but  a  detailed  description  would  make  these  pages 
too  much  of  a  broker's  inventory.  To  find  anything  com- 
parable to  these  treasures,  it  would  be  necessary  to  visit  the 
Rothschilds'  house  close  by. 

Sophie  Grignoult,  who,  following  the  usual  custom  of  tak- 
ing a  stage  name,  was  known  as  Florine,  had  made  her  debut, 
beautiful  as  she  was,  in  a  subordinate  capacity.  Her  triumph 
and  her  wealth  she  owed  to  Raoul  Nathan.  The  association 
of  these  two  careers,  common  enough  in  the  dramatic  and 
literary  world,  did  not  injure  Raoul,  who,  in  his  character  as 


54  A   DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

a  man  of  high  pretensions,  respected  the  proprieties.  Never- 
theless, Florine's  fortune  was  far  from  assured.  Her  profes- 
sional income,  arising  from  her  salary  and  what  she  could  earn 
in  her  holidays,  barely  sufficed  for  dress  and  housekeeping. 
Nathan  helped  her  with  contributions  levied  on  new  ventures 
in  trade,  and  was  always  chivalrous  and  ready  to  act  as  her 
protector;  but  the  support  he  gave  was  neither  regular  nor 
solid.  This  instability,  this  hand-to-mouth  life,  had  no  terrors 
for  Florine.  She  believed  in  her  talent  and  her  beauty ;  and 
this  robust  faith  had  something  comic  in  it  for  those  who 
heard  her,  in  answer  to  remonstrances,  mortgaging  her  future 
on  such  security. 

**  I  can  live  on  my  means  whenever  I  like,"  she  would  say ; 
**I  have  fifty  francs  in  the  Funds  now." 

No  one  could  understand  how,  with  her  beauty,  Florine 
had  remained  seven  years  in  obscurity ;  but,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  she  was  enrolled  as  a  supernumerary  at  the  age  of  thir- 
teen, and  made  her  debut  two  years  later  in  a  humble  theatre 
on  the  boulevards.  At  fifteen,  beauty  and  talent  do  not  exist ; 
there  can  only  be  promise  of  the  coming  woman.  She  was 
now  twenty-eight,  an  age  which  with  Frenchwomen  is  the 
culminating  point  of  their  beauty.  Painters  admired  most 
of  all  her  shoulders,  glossy  white,  with  olive  tints  about  the 
back  of  the  neck,  but  firm  and  polished,  reflecting  the  light 
like  watered  silk.  When  she  turned  her  head,  the  neck 
made  magnificent  curves  in  which  sculptors  delighted.  On 
this  neck  rose  the  small,  imperious  head  of  a  Roman  empress, 
graceful  and  finely  moulded,  round  and  self-assertive,  like  that 
of  Poppaea.  The  features  were  correct,  yet  expressive,  and 
the  unlined  forehead  was  that  of  an  easy-going  woman  who 
takes  all  trouble  lightly,  yet  can  be  obstinate  as  a  mule  on 
occasion  and  deaf  to  all  reason.  This  forehead,  with  its  pure 
unbroken  sweep,  gave  value  to  the  lovely  flaxen  hair,  gener- 
ally raised  in  front,  in  Roman  fashion,  in  two  equal  masses 
and  twisted  into  a  high  knot  at  the  back,  so  as  to  prolong  the 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  56 

curve  of  the  neck  and  bring  out  its  whiteness.  Dark,  delicate 
eyebrows,  such  as  a  Chinese  artist  pencils,  framed  the  heavy 
lids,  covered  with  a  network  of  tiny  pink  veins.  The  pupils, 
sparkling  with  fire  but  spotted  with  patches  of  brown,  gave  to 
her  look  the  fierce  fixity  of  a  wild  beast,  emblematic  of  the 
courtesan's  cold  heartlessness.  The  lovely  gazelle-like  iris 
was  a  beautiful  gray,  and  fringed  with  black  lashes,  a  bewitch- 
ing contrast  which  brought  out  yet  more  strikingly  the  expres- 
sion of  calm  and  expectant  desire.  Darker  tints  encircled 
the  eyes  ;  but  it  was  the  artistic  finish  with  which  she  used 
them  that  was  most  remarkable.  Those  darting,  sidelong 
glances  which  nothing  escaped,  the  upward  gaze  of  her 
dreamy  pose,  the  way  she  had  of  keeping  the  iris  fixed,  while 
charging  it  with  the  most  intense  passion  and  without  moving 
the  head  or  stirring  a  muscle  of  the  face — a  trick,  this, 
learned  on  the  stage — the  keen  sweep  which  would  embrace  a 
whole  room  to  find  out  the  man  she  wanted — these  were  the 
arts  which  made  of  her  eyes  the  most  terrible,  the  sweetest, 
the  strangest  in  the  world. 

Rouge  had  spoilt  the  delicate  transparency  of  her  soft 
cheeks.  But  if  it  was  beyond  her  power  to  blush  or  grow 
pale,  she  had  a  slender  nose,  indented  by  pink,  quivering 
nostrils,  which  seemed  to  breathe  the  sarcasm  and  mockery  of 
Moli^re's  waiting-maids.  Her  mouth,  sensual  and  luxurious, 
lending  itself  to  irony  as  readily  as  to  love,  owed  much  of  its 
beauty  to  the  finely-cut  edges  of  the  little  groove  joining  the 
upper  lip  to  the  nose.  Her  white,  rather  fleshy,  chin  por- 
tended storms  in  love.  Her  hands  and  arms  might  have  been 
an  empress'.  But  the  feet  were  short  and  thick,  ineradicable 
sign  of  low  birth.  Never  had  heritage  wrought  more  woe. 
In  her  efforts  to  change  it,  Florine  had  stopped  short  only  at 
amputation.  But  her  feet  were  obstinate,  like  the  Bretons 
from  whom  she  sprang,  and  refused  to  yield  to  any  science  or 
manipulation.  Florine  therefore  wore  long  boots,  stuffed 
with  cotton,  to  give  her  an  arched  instep.     She  was  of  medium 


56  A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

height,  and  threatened  with  corpulence,  but  her  figure  still 
kept  its  curves  and  precision. 

Morally,  she  was  past  mistress  in  all  the  airs  and  graces, 
tantrums,  quips,  and  caresses  of  her  trade ;  but  she  gave  them 
a  special  character  by  affecting  childishness  and  edging  in  a 
sly  thrust  under  cover  of  innocent  laughter.  With  all  her 
apparent  ignorance  and  giddiness,  she  was  at  home  in  the 
mysteries  of  discount  and  commercial  law.  She  had  waded 
through  so  many  bad  times  to  reach  her  day  of  precarious 
triumph  !  She  had  descended,  story  by  story,  to  the  first 
floor,  through  such  a  coil  of  intrigue  !  She  knew  life  under 
so  many  forms ;  from  that  which  dines  off  bread  and  cheese 
to  that  which  toys  listlessly  with  apricot  fritters ;  from  that 
which  does  its  cooking  and  washing  in  the  corner  of  a  garret 
with  an  earthen  stove  to  that  which  summons  its  vassal  host 
of  big-paunched  chefs  and  impudent  scullions.  She  had  in- 
dulged in  credit  without  killing  it.  She  knew  everything  of 
which  good  women  are  ignorant,  and  could  speak  all  lan- 
guages. A  child  of  the  people  by  her  origin,  the  refinement 
of  her  beauty  allied  her  to  the  upper  classes.  She  was  hard 
to  overreach  and  impossible  to  mystify ;  for,  like  spies,  barris- 
ters, and  those  who  have  grown  old  in  statecraft,  she  kept  an 
open  mind  for  every  possibility.  She  knew  how  to  deal  with 
tradespeople  and  their  little  tricks,  and  could  quote  prices 
with  an  auctioneer.  Lying  back,  like  some  fair  young  bride, 
on  her  couch,  with  the  part  she  was  learning  in  her  hand,  she 
might  have  passed  for  a  guileless  and  ignorant  girl  of  sixteen, 
protected  only  by  her  innocence.  But  let  some  important 
creditor  arrive,  and  she  was  on  her  feet  like  a  startled  fawn,  a 
good  round  oath  upon  her  lips. 

"  My  good  fellow,"  she  would  address  him,  **  your  insolence 
is  really  too  high  an  interest  on  my  debt.  I  am  tired  of  the 
sight  of  you  ;  go  and  send  the  bailiflTs.  Rather  them  than 
your  imbecile  face." 

Fiorina  gave   charming  dinners,    concerts,  and   crowded 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  57 

receptions,  where  the  play  was  very  high.  Her  women  friends 
were  all  beautiful.  Never  had  an  old  woman  been  seen  at  her 
parties  ;  she  was  entirely  free  from  jealousy,  which  seemed  to 
her  a  confession  of  weakness.  Among  her  old  acquaintances 
were  Coralie  and  la  Torpille ;  among  those  of  the  day,  the 
Tullias,  Euphrasie,  the  Aquilinas,  Madame  du  Val-Noble,  and 
Mariette — those  women  who  float  through  Paris  like  threads 
of  gossamer  in  the  air,  no  one  knowing  whence  they  come  or 
whither  they  go  ;  queens  to-day,  to-morrow  drudges.  Her 
rivals,  too,  came,  actresses  and  singers,  the  whole  company, 
in  short,  of  that  unique  feminine  world,  so  kindly  and  gra- 
cious in  its  recklessness,  whose  bohemian  life  carries  away  with 
its  dash,  its  spirit,  its  scorn  of  to-morrow,  the  men  who  join 
the  frenzied  dance.  Though  in  Florine's  house  bohemianism 
flourished  unchecked  to  a  chorus  of  gay  artists,  the  mistress 
had  all  her  wits  about  her,  and  could  use  them  as  could  none 
of  her  guests.  Secret  saturnalia  of  literature  and  art  were 
held  there  side  by  side  with  politics  and  finance.  There 
passion  reigned  supreme ;  there  temper  and  the  whim  of  the 
moment  received  the  reverence  which  a  simple  society  pays 
to  honor  and  virtue.  There  might  be  seen  Blondet,  Finot, 
^tienne  Lousteau  (her  seventh  lover  who  believed  himself  to 
be  the  first),  Felicien  Vernou  the  journalist.  Couture,  Bixiou, 
Rastignac  formerly,  Claud  Vignon  the  critic,  Nucingen  the 
banker,  du  Tillet,  Conti  the  composer ;  in  a  word,  the  whole 
diabolic  legion  of  ferocious  egotists  in  every  walk  of  life. 
There  also  came  the  friends  of  the  singers,  dancers,  and  act- 
resses whom  Florine  knew. 

Every  member  of  this  society  hated  or  loved  every  other 
member  according  to  circumstances.  This  house  of  call,  open 
to  celebrities  of  every  kind,  was  a  sort  of  brothel  of  wit,  a 
galleys  of  the  mind.  Not  a  guest  there  but  had  filched  his 
fortune  within  the  four  corners  of  the  law,  had  worked 
through  ten  years  of  squalor,  had  strangled  two  or  three  love 
affairs,  and  had  made  his  mark,  whether  by  a  book  or  a  vest, 


58  A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

a  drama  or  a  carriage-and' pair.  Their  time  was  spent  in 
hatching  mischief,  in  exploring  roads  to  wealth,  in  ridiculing 
popular  outbreaks,  which  they  had  incited  the  day  before, 
and  in  studying  the  fluctuations  of  the  money  market.  Each 
man,  as  he  left  the  house,  donned  again  the  livery  of  his  be- 
liefs, which  he  had  cast  aside  on  entering  in  order  to  abuse  at 
his  ease  his  own  party,  and  admire  the  strategy  and  skill  of 
its  opponents,  to  put  in  plain  words  thoughts  which  men  keep 
to  themselves,  to  practice,  in  fine,  that  license  of  speech 
which  goes  with  license  in  action.  Paris  is  the  one  place  in 
the  world  where  houses  of  this  eclectic  sort  exist,  in  which 
every  taste,  every  vice,  every  opinion,  finds  a  welcome,  so 
long  as  it  comes  in  decent  garb. 

It  remains  to  be  said  that  Fiorina  is  still  a  second-rate 
actress.  Further,  her  life  is  neither  an  idle  nor  an  enviable 
one.  Many  people,  deluded  by  the  splendid  vantage-ground 
which  the  theatre  gives  to  a  woman,  imagine  her  to  live  in  a 
perpetual  carnival.  How  many  a  poor  girl,  buried  in  some 
porter's  lodge  or  under  an  attic  roof,  dreams  on  her  return 
from  the  theatre  of  pearls  and  diamonds,  of  dresses  bedecked 
with  gold  and  rich  sashes ;  and  pictures  herself,  the  glitter  of 
the  footlights  on  her  hair,  applauded,  purchased,  worshiped, 
carried  off".  And  not  one  of  them  knows  the  facts  of  that 
treadmill  existence,  how  an  actress  is  forced  to  attend  re- 
hearsals under  penalty  of  a  fine,  to  read  plays,  and  perpetually 
study  new  parts,  at  a  time  when  two  or  three  hundred  pieces 
a  year  are  played  in  Paris.  In  the  course  of  each  performance, 
Florine  changes  her  dress  two  or  three  times,  and  often  she 
returns  to  her  dressing-room  half-dead  with  exhaustion.  Then 
she  has  to  get  rid  of  the  red  or  white  paint  with  the  aid  of 
plentiful  cosmetics,  and  dust  the  powder  out  of  her  hair,  if 
she  has  been  playing  an  eighteenth-century  part.  Barely  has 
she  time  to  dine.  When  she  is  playing,  an  actress  can  neither 
lace  her  stays,  nor  eat,  nor  talk.  For  supper,  again,  Florine 
has  no  time.     On  returning  from  a  performance,  which  now- 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  59 

a-days  is  not  over  till  past  midnight,  she  has  her  toilet  for  the 
night  to  make  and  orders  to  give.  After  going  to  bed  at  one 
or  two  in  the  morning,  she  has  to  be  up  in  time  to  revise  her 
parts,  to  order  her  dresses,  to  explain  them  and  try  them  on ; 
then  lunch,  read  her  love-letters,  reply  to  them,  transact  busi- 
ness with  her  hired  applauders,  so  that  she  may  be  properly 
greeted  on  entering  and  leaving  the  stage,  and,  while  paying 
the  bill  for  her  triumphs  of  the  past  month,  order  wholesale 
those  of  the  present.  In  the  days  of  Saint  Genest,  a  canon- 
ized actor,  who  neglected  no  means  of  grace  and  wore  a  hair- 
shirt,  the  stage,  we  must  suppose,  did  not  demand  this  relent- 
less activity.  Often  Florine  is  forced  to  feign  an  illness  if 
she  wants  to  go  into  the  country  and  pick  flowers  like  an 
ordinary  mortal. 

Yet  these  purely  mechanical  occupations  are  nothing  in 
comparison  with  the  mental  worries,  arising  from  intrigues  to 
be  conducted,  annoyances  to  vanity,  preferences  shown  by 
authors,  competition  for  parts,  with  its  triumphs  and  dis- 
appointments, unreasonable  actors,  ill-natured  rivals,  and  the 
importunities  of  managers  and  critics,  all  of  which  demand 
another  twenty-four  hours  in  the  day.    , 

And,  lastly,  there  is  the  art  itself  and  all  the  difficulties  it 
involves — the  interpretation  of  passion,  details  of  mimicry, 
and  stage  effects,  with  thousands  of  opera-glasses  ready  to 
pounce  on  the  slightest  flaw  in  the  most  brilliant  presentment. 
These  are  the  things  which  wore  away  the  life  and  energy  of 
Talma,  Lekain,  Baron,  Contat,  Clairon,  Champmesl6.  In 
the  pandemonium  of  the  greenroom  self-love  is  sexless ;  the 
successful  artist,  man  or  woman,  has  all  other  men  and  women 
for  enemies. 

As  to  profits,  however  handsome  Florine's  salaries  may  be, 
they  do  not  cover  the  cost  of  the  stage  finery,  which — not  to 
speak  of  costumes — demands  an  enormous  expenditure  in  long 
gloves  and  shoes,  and  does  not  do  away  with  the  necessity  for 
evening  and  visiting  dresses.     One-third  of  such  a  life  is  spent 


60  A   DAUGHTER   OP  EVE. 

in  begging  favors,  another  in  making  sure  the  ground  already 
won,  and  the  remainder  in  repelling  attacks  ;  but  all  alike  is 
work.  If  it  contains  also  moments  of  intense  happiness,  that 
is  because  happiness  here  is  rare  and  stolen,  long  waited — a 
chance  godsend  amid  the  hateful  grind  of  forced  pleasure  and 
stage  smiles. 

To  Florine,  Raoul's  power  was  a  sovereign  protection.  He 
saved  her  many  a  vexation  and  worry,  in  the  fashion  of  a  great 
noble  of  former  days  defending  his  mistress ;  or,  to  take  a 
modern  instance,  like  the  old  men  who  go  on  their  knees  to 
the  editor  when  their  idol  has  been  scarified  by  some  five- 
centime  print.  He  was  more  than  a  lover  to  her ;  he  was  a 
staff  to  lean  on.  She  tended  him  like  a  father,  and  deceived 
him  like  a  husband  ;  but  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  she 
would  not  have  sacrificed  for  him.  Raoul  was  indispensable 
to  her  artistic  vanity,  to  the  tranquillity  of  her  self-esteem,  and 
to  her  dramatic  future.  Without  the  intervention  of  some 
great  writer,  no  great  actress  can  be  produced ;  we  owe  la 
Champmesle  to  Racine,  as  we  owe  Mars  to  Monvel  and 
Andrieux.  Florine,  on  her  side,  could  do  nothing  for  Raoul, 
much  as  she  would  have  liked  to  be  useful  or  necessary  to 
him.  She  counted  on  the  seductions  of  habit,  and  was  always 
ready  to  open  her  rooms  and  offer  the  profusion  of  her  table 
to  help  his  plans  or  his  friends.  In  fact,  she  aspired  to  be  for 
him  what  Madame  de  Pompadour  was  for  Louis  XV.;  and 
there  were  actresses  who  envied  her  position,  just  as  there 
were  journalists  who  would  have  changed  places  with  Raoul. 

Now,  those  who  know  the  bent  of  the  human  mind  to  op- 
position and  contrast  will  easily  understand  that  Raoul,  after 
ten  years  of  this  rakish  bohemian  life,  should  weary  of  its  ups 
and  downs,  its  revelry  and  its  writs,  its  orgies  and  its  fasts, 
and  should  feel  drawn  to  a  pure  and  innocent  love,  as  well  as 
to  the  gentle  harmony  of  a  great  lady's  existence.  In  the 
same  way,  the  Comtesse  Felix  longed  to  introduce  the  tor- 
ments of  passion  into  a  life  the  bliss  of  which  had  cloyed 


A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE.  61 

through  its  sameness.  This  law  of  life  is  the  law  of  all  art, 
which  exists  only  through  contrast.  A  work  produced  inde- 
pendently of  such  aid  is  the  highest  expression  of  genius,  as 
the  cloister  is  the  highest  effort  of  Christianity. 

Raoul,  on  returning  home,  found  a  note  from  Florine,  which 
her  maid  had  brought,  but  was  too  sleepy  to  read  it.  He 
went  to  bed  in  the  restful  satisfaction  of  a  tender  love,  which 
had  so  far  been  lacking  to  his  life.  A  few  hours  later,  he 
found  important  news  in  this  letter,  news  of  which  neither 
Rastignac  nor  de  Marsay  had  dropped  a  hint.  Florine  had 
learned  from  some  indiscreet  friend  that  the  Chamber  was  to 
be  dissolved  at  the  close  of  the  session.  Raoul  at  once  went 
to  Florine's,  and  sent  for  Blondet  to  meet  him  there. 

In  Florine's  boudoir,  their  feet  upon  the  fire-dogs,  Emile 
and  Raoul  dissected  the  political  situation  of  France  in  1834. 
On  what  side  lay  the  best  chance  for  a  man  who  wanted  to 
get  on  ?  Every  shade  of  opinion  was  passed  in  review — Re- 
publicans pure  and  simple,  Republicans  with  a  president.  Re- 
publicans without  a  republic,  Dynastic  Constitutionalists  and 
Constitutionalists  without  a  dynasty.  Conservative  Ministeri- 
alists and  Absolutist  Ministerialists ;  lastly,  the  compromising 
right,  the  aristocratic  right,  the  Legitimist  right,  the  Henri- 
quinquist  right,  and  the  Carlist  right.  As  between  the  party 
of  obstruction  and  the  party  of  progress  there  could  be  no 
question ;  as  well  might  one  hesitate  between  life  and  death. 

The  vast  number  of  newspapers  at  this  time  in  circulation, 
representing  different  shades  of  party,  was  significant  of  the 
chaotic  confusion — the  "slush,"  as  it  might  vulgarly  be  called 
— to  which  politics  were  reduced.  Blondet,  the  man  of  his 
day  with  most  judgment,  although,  like  a  barrister  unable  to 
plead  his  own  cause,  he  could  use  it  only  on  behalf  of  others, 
was  magnificent  in  these  friendly  discussions.  His  advice  to 
Nathan  was  not  to  desert  abruptly. 

'*  It  was  Napoleon  v/ho  said  that  young  republics  cannot  be 
made  out  of  old  monarchies.     Therefore,  do  you,  my  friend, 


62  A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

become  the  hero,  the  pillar,  the  creator  of  a  Left  Centre  in  the 
next  Chamber,  and  a  political  future  is  before  you.  Once 
past  the  barrier,  once  in  the  Ministry,  a  man  can  do  what  he 
pleases,  he  can  wear  the  winning  colors." 

Nathan  decided  to  start  a  political  daily  paper,  of  which  he 
should  have  the  complete  control,  and  to  affiliate  to  it  one  of 
those  small  society  sheets  with  which  the  press  swarmed,  estab- 
lishing at  the  same  time  a  connection  with  some  magazine. 
The  press  had  been  the  mainspring  of  so  many  fortunes  around 
him  that  Nathan  refused  to  listen  to  Blondet's  warnings  against 
trusting  to  it.  In  Blondet's  opinion,  the  speculation  was  un- 
safe, because  of  the  multitude  of  competing  papers,  and  be- 
cause the  power  of  the  press  seemed  to  him  used  up.  Raoul, 
strong  in  his  .supposed  friends  and  in  his  courage,  was  keen  to 
go  forward  ;  with  a  gesture  of  pride  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
exclaimed — 

"  I  shall  succeed  !  " 

*'  You  haven't  a  penny  !  " 

*'  I  shall  write  a  play  1  " 

"It  will  fall  dead." 

"Let  it,"  said  Nathan. 

He  paced  up  and  down  Florine's  room,  followed  by  Blondet, 
who  thought  he  had  gone  crazy  ;  he  cast  covetous  glances  on 
the  costly  treasures  piled  up  around ;  then  Blondet  under- 
stood him. 

"There's  more  than  one  hundred  thousand  francs'  worth 
here,"  said  Emile. 

"Yes,"  said  Raoul,  with  a  sigh  toward  Florine's  sumptuous 
bed  ;  "  but  I  would  sell  patent  safety-chains  on  the  boulevards 
and  live  on  fried  potatoes  all  my  life  rather  than  sell  a  single 
patera  from  these  rooms." 

"  Not  one  patera,  no,"  said  Blondet,  "  but  the  whole  lot ! 
Ambition  is  like  death ;  it  clutches  all  because  life,  it  knows, 
is  hounding  it  on." 

"  No  1  a  thousand  times,  no !     I  would  accept  anything 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  63 

from  that  countess  of  yesterday,  but  to  rob  Florine  of  her 
nest  ?  " 

"To  overthrow  one's  mint,"  said  Blondet,  with  a  tragic 
air,  "  to  smash  up  the  coining-press,  and  break  the  stamp,  is 
certainly  serious." 

"From  what  I  can  gather,  you  are  abandoning  the  stage 
for  politics,"  said  Florine,  suddenly  breaking  in  on  them. 

"Yes,  my  child,  yes,"  said  Raoul  good-naturedly,  putting 
his  arm  round  her  neck  and  kissing  her  forehead,  "Why 
that  frown  ?  It  will  be  no  loss  to  you.  Won't  the  minister  be 
better  placed  then  the  journalist  for  getting  a  first-rate  engage- 
ment for  the  queen  of  the  boards  ?  You  will  still  have  your 
parts  and  your  holidays." 

"  Where  is  the  money  to  come  from  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  From  my  uncle,"  replied  Raoul. 

Florine  knew  this  "uncle."  The  word  meant  a  money- 
lender, just  as  "  my  aunt  "  was  the  vulgar  name  for  a  pawn- 
broker. 

"Don't  bother  yourself,  my  pretty  one,"  said  Blondet  to 
Florine,  patting  her  on  the  shoulder.  "I  will  get  Massol  to 
help  him.  He's  a  barrister,  and,  like  the  rest  of  them,  intends 
to  have  a  turn  at  being  Minister  of  Justice.  Then  there's  du 
Tillet,  who  wants  a  seat  in  the  Chamber ;  Finot,  who  is  still 
backing  a  society  paper;  Plantin,  who  has  his  eye  on  a  post 
under  the  Conseil  d'Etat,  and  who  has  some  share  in  a  maga- 
zine. No  fear !  I  won't  let  him  ruin  himself.  We  will  get 
a  meeting  here  with  Etienne  Lousteau,  who  will  do  the  light 
stuff,  and  Claud  Vignon  for  the  serious  criticism.  Felicien 
Vernou  will  be  the  charwoman  of  the  paper,  the  barrister  will 
sweat  for  it,  du  Tillet  will  look  after  trade  and  the  Exchange, 
and  we  shall  see  where  this  union  of  determined  men  and 
their  tools  will  land  us. ' ' 

"  In  the  workhouse  or  on  the  Government  bench,  those 
refuges  for  the  ruined  in  body  or  mind,"  said  Raoul. 

"  What  about  the  dinner? " 


64  A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

"We'll  have  it  here,"  said  Raoul,  "  five  days  hence." 

"  Let  me  know  how  much  you  need,"  said  Florine  simply. 

"  Why,  the  barrister,  du  Tillet,  and  Raoul  can't  start  with 
less  than  one  hundred  thousand  francs  a-piece,"  said  Blondet. 
*•  That  will  run  the  paper  very  well  for  eighteen  months,  time 
enough  to  make  a  hit  or  miss  in  Paris," 

Florine  made  a  gesture  of  approval.  The  two  friends  then 
took  a  coach  and  set  out  in  quest  of  guests,  pens,  ideas,  and 
sources  of  support.  The  beautiful  actress  on  her  part  sent  for 
four  dealers  in  furniture,  curiosities,  pictures,  and  jewelry. 
The  dealers,  who  were  all  men  of  substance,  entered  the 
sanctuary  and  made  an  inventory  of  its  whole  contents,  just 
as  though  Florine  were  dead.  She  threatened  them  with  a 
public  auction  in  case  they  hardened  their  hearts  in  hope  of  a 
better  opportunity.  She  had,  she  told  them,  excited  the 
admiration  of  an  English  lord  in  a  mediaeval  part,  and  she 
wished  to  dispose  of  all  her  personal  property,  in  order  that 
her  apparently  destitute  condition  might  move  him  to  present 
her  with  a  splendid  house,  which  she  would  furnish  as  a  rival 
to  Rothschild's.  With  all  her  arts,  she  only  succeeded  in 
getting  an  offer  of  seventy  thousand  francs  for  the  whole  of 
the  spoil,  which  was  well  worth  one  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand. Florine,  who  did  not  care  a  button  for  the  things, 
promised  they  should  be  handed  over  in  seven  days  for  eighty 
thousand  francs. 

"You  can  take  it  or  leave  it,"  she  said. 

The  bargain  was  concluded.  When  the  dealers  had  gone, 
the  actress  skipped  for  joy,  like  the  little  hills  of  King  David. 
She  could  not  contain  herself  for  delight ;  never  had  she 
dreamed  of  such  wealth.  When  Raoul  returned,  she  pretended 
to  be  offended  with  him,  and  declared  that  she  was  deserted. 
She  saw  through  it  all  now  ;  men  don't  change  their  party  or 
leave  the  stage  for  the  Chamber  without  some  reason.  There 
must  be  a  rival !  Her  instinct  told  her  so  !  Vows  of  eternal 
love  rewarded  her  little  comedy. 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  66 

Five  days  later,  Florine  gave  a  magnificent  entertainment. 
The  ceremony  of  christening  the  paper  was  then  performed 
amidst  floods  of  wine  and  wit,  oaths  of  fidelity,  of  good  fellow- 
ship, and  of  serious  alliance.  The  name,  forgotten  now,  like 
the  "Liberal,"  the  "Communal,"  the  "  Ddpartemental," 
the  "Garde  National,"  the  "Federal,"  the  "Impartial," 
was  something  which  ended  in  al,  and  was  bound  not  to  take. 
Descriptions  of  banquets  have  been  so  numerous  in  a  literary 
period  which  had  more  first-hand  experience  of  starving  in 
an  attic,  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  do  justice  to  Florine's. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that,  at  three  in  the  morning,  Florine  was 
able  to  undress  and  go  to  bed  as  if  she  had  been  alone,  though 
not  one  of  her  guests  had  left.  These  lights  of  their  age  were 
sleeping  like  pigs.  When,  early  in  the  morning,  the  packers, 
commissionaires,  and  porters  arrived  to  carry  off  the  gorgeous 
trappings  of  the  famous  actress,  she  laughed  aloud  to  see  them 
lifting  these  celebrities  like  heavy  pieces  of  furniture  and  de- 
positing them  on  the  floor. 

Thus  the  splendid  collection  went  its  way. 

Florine  carried  her  personal  remembrances  to  stores  where 
the  sight  of  them  did  not  enlighten  passers-by  as  to  how  and 
when  these  flowers  of  luxury  had  been  paid  for.  It  was  agreed 
to  leave  her  until  the  evening  a  few  specially  reserved  articles, 
including  her  bed,  her  table,  and  her  crockery,  so  that  she 
might  offer  breakfast  to  her  guests.  These  witty  gentlemen, 
having  falling  asleep  under  the  beauteous  drapery  of  wealth, 
awoke  to  the  cold,  naked  walls  of  poverty,  studded  with  nail- 
marks  and  disfigured  by  those  incongruous  patches  which  are 
found  at  the  back  of  wall  decorations,  as  ropes  behind  an 
opera  scene. 

"Why,  Florine,  the  poor  girl  has  an  execution  in  the 
house!"  cried  Bixiou,  one  of  the  guests.  "Quick!  your 
pockets,  gentlemen  !     A  subscription !  " 

At  these  words  the  whole  company  was  on  foot.  The  net 
sweepings  of  the  pockets  came  to  thirty-seven  francs,  which 
5 


66  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

Raoul  handed  over  with  mock  ceremony  to  the  laughing 
Florine.  The  happy  courtesan  raised  her  head  from  the  pil- 
low and  pointed  to  a  heap  of  bank-notes  on  the  sheet,  thick  as 
in  the  golden  days  of  her  trade.     Raoul  called  Blondet. 

"I  see  it  now,"  said  Blondet.  "  The  little  rogue  has  sold 
off  without  a  word  to  us.     Well  done,  Florine  !  " 

Delighted  with  this  stroke,  the  few  friends  who  remained 
carried  Florine  in  triumph  and  deshabille  to  the  dining-room. 
The  barrister  and  the  bankers  had  gone.  That  evening  Florine 
had  a  tremendous  reception  at  the  theatre.  The  rumor  of  her 
sacrifice  was  all  over  the  house. 

"  I  should  prefer  to  be  applauded  for  my  talent,"  said 
Florine's  rival  to  her  in  the  greenroom. 

"  That  is  very  natural  on  the  part  of  an  artist  who  has  never 
yet  won  applause  except  for  the  lavishness  of  her  favors,"  she 
replied. 

During  the  evening  Florine's  maid  had  her  things  moved 
to  Raoul's  flat  in  the  Passage  Sandrie.  The  journalist  was  to 
pitch  his  camp  in  the  building  where  the  newspaper  office  was 
opened. 

Such  was  the  rival  of  the  ingenuous  Mme.  de  Vandenesse. 
Raoul's  fancy  was  a  link  binding  the  actress  to  the  lady  of 
title.  It  was  a  ghastly  tie  like  this  which  was  severed  by  that 
Duchess  of  Louis  XIV. 's  time  who  poisoned  Lecouvreur;  nor 
can  such  an  act  of  vengeance  be  wondered  at,  considering  the 
magnitude  of  the  offense. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

LOVE  VERSUS  SOCIETY. 

Florine  proved  no  difficulty  in  the  early  stages  of  Raoul's 
passion.  Foreseeing  financial  disappointments  in  the  hazard- 
ous scheme  into  which  he  had  plunged,  she  begged  leave  of 
absence  for  six  months.     Raoul  took  an  active  part  in  the 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  67 

negotiation,  and  by  bringing  it  to  a  successful  issue  still  further 
endeared  himself  to  Florine.  With  the  good  sense  of  the 
peasant  in  La  Fontaine's  fable,  who  makes  sure  of  his  dinner 
while  the  patricians  are  chattering  over  plans,  the  actress 
hurried  off  to  the  provinces  and  abroad,  to  glean  the  where- 
withal to  support  the  great  man  during  his  place-hunting. 

Up  to  the  present  time  the  art  of  fiction  has  seldom  dealt 
with  love  as  it  shows  itself  in  the  highest  society,  a  compound 
of  noble  impulse  and  hidden  wretchedness.  There  is  a  terri- 
ble strain  in  the  constant  check  imposed  on  passion  by  the 
most  trivial  and  trumpery  incidents,  and  not  infrequently  the 
thread  snaps  from  sheer  lassitude.  Perhaps  some  glimpse  of 
what  it  means  may  be  obtained  here. 

The  day  after  Lady  Dudley's  ball,  although  nothing  ap- 
proaching a  declaration  had  escaped  on  either  side,  Marie 
felt  that  Raoul's  love  was  the  realization  of  her  dreams,  and 
Raoul  had  no  doubt  that  he  was  the  chosen  of  Marie's  heart. 
Neither  of  the  two  had  reached  that  point  of  depravity  where 
preliminaries  are  curtailed,  and  yet  they  advanced  rapidly 
toward  the  end.  Raoul,  sated  with  pleasure,  was  in  the  mood 
for  Platonic  affection ;  whilst  Marie,  from  whom  the  idea  of 
an  actual  fault  was  still  remote,  had  never  contemplated  pass- 
ing beyond  it.  Never,  therefore,  was  love  more  pure  and 
innocent  in  fact,  or  more  impassioned  and  rapturous  in  thought, 
than  this  of  Raoul  and  Marie.  The  countess  had  been  fasci- 
nated by  ideas  which,  though  clothed  in  modern  dress,  belonged 
to  the  times  of  chivalry.  In  her  role,  as  she  conceived  it, 
her  husband's  dislike  to  Nathan  no  longer  appeared  an  obstacle 
to  her  love.  The  less  Raoul  merited  esteem,  the  nobler  was 
her  mission.  The  inflated  language  of  the  poet  stirred  her 
imagination  rather  than  her  blood.  It  was  charity  which 
wakened  at  the  call  of  passion.  This  queen  of  the  virtues  lent 
what  in  the  eyes  of  the  countess  seemed  almost  a  sanction  to 
the  tremors,  the  delights,  the  turbulence  of  her  love.  She 
felt  it  a  fine  thing  to  be  the  human  providence  of  Raoul. 


68  A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

How  sweet  to  think  of  supporting  with  her  feeble,  white  hand 
this  colossal  figure,  whose  feet  of  clay  she  refused  to  see,  of 
sowing  life  where  none  had  been,  of  working  in  secret  at  the 
foundation  of  a  great  destiny.  With  her  help  this  man  of 
genius  should  wrestle  with  and  overcome  his  fate ;  her  hand 
should  embroider  his  scarf  for  the  tourney,  buckle  on  his 
armor,  give  him  a  charm  against  sorcery,  and  balm  for  all  his 
wounds. 

In  a  woman  with  Marie's  noble  nature  and  religious  up- 
bringing this  passionate  charity  was  the  only  form  love  could 
assume.  Hence  her  boldness.  The  pure  in  mind  have  a 
superb  disdain  for  appearances,  which  may  be  mistaken  for 
the  shamelessness  of  the  courtesan.  No  sooner  had  the 
countess  assured  herself  by  casuistical  arguments  that  her 
husband's  honor  ran  no  risk,  than  she  abandoned  herself  com- 
pletely to  the  bliss  of  loving  Raoul.  The  most  trivial  things 
in  life  had  now  a  charm  for  her.  The  boudoir  in  which  she 
dreamed  of  him  became  a  sanctuary.  Even  her  pretty 
writing-table  recalled  to  her  the  countless  joys  of  correspond- 
ence; there  she  would  have  to  read,  to  hide,  his  letters; 
there  reply  to  them.  Dress,  that  splendid  poem  of  a  woman's 
life,  the  significance  of  which  she  had  either  exhausted  or 
ignored,  now  appeared  to  her  full  of  a  magic  hitherto  un- 
known. Suddenly  it  became  to  her  what  it  is  to  all  women — 
a  continuous  expression  of  the  inner  thought,  a  language,  a 
symbol.  What  wealth  of  delight  in  a  costume  designed  for 
his  pleasure,  in  his  honor  !  She  threw  herself  with  all  sim- 
plicity into  those  charming  nothings  which  make  the  business 
of  a  Paris  woman's  life,  and  which  charge  with  meaning 
every  detail  in  her  house,  her  person,  her  clothes.  Rare 
indeed  are  the  women  who  frequent  dress  stores,  milliners, 
and  fashionable  tailors  simply  for  their  own  pleasure.  As 
they  become  old  they  cease  to  think  of  dress.  Scrutinize  the 
face  which  in  passing  you  see  for  a  moment  arrested  before  a 
store-front:  "Would  he  like  me   better  in  this?"  are  the 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  69 

words  written  plain  in  the  clearing  brow,  in  eyes  sparkling 
with  hope,  and  in  the  beaming,  angelic  smile  that  plays  upon 
the  lips. 

Lady  Dudley's  ball  took  place  on  a  Saturday  evening;  on 
the  Monday  the  countess  went  to  the  opera,  allured  by  the 
certainty  of  seeing  Raoul.  Raoul,  in  fact,  was  there,  planted 
on  one  of  the  staircases  which  lead  down  to  the  amphitheatre 
stalls.  He  lowered  his  eyes  as  the  countess  entered  her  box. 
With  what  ecstasy  did  Mme.  de  Vandenesse  observe  the  un- 
wonted carefulness  of  her  lover's  attire  !  This  contemner  of 
the  laws  of  elegance  might  be  seen  with  well-brushed  hair, 
which  shone  with  scent  in  the  recesses  of  every  curl,  a  fashion- 
able vest,  a  well-fastened  tie,  and  an  immaculate  shirt-front. 
Under  the  yellow  gloves,  which  were  the  order  of  the  day,  his 
hands  showed  very  white.  Raoul  kept  his  arms  crossed  over 
his  breast,  as  though  posing  for  his  portrait,  superbly  indifferent 
to  the  whole  house,  which  murmured  with  barely  restrained 
impatience.  His  eyes,  though  bent  on  the  ground,  seemed 
turned  toward  the  red  velvet  bar  on  which  Marie's  arm  rested. 
Felix,  seated  in  the  opposite  corner  of  the  box,  had  his  back 
to  Nathan.  The  countess  had  been  adroit  enough  to  place 
herself  so  that  she  looked  straight  down  on  the  pillar  against 
which  Raoul  leaned.  In  a  single  hour,  then,  Marie  had 
brought  this  clever  man  to  abjure  his  cynicism  in  dress.  The 
humblest,  as  well  as  the  most  distinguished,  woman  must  feel 
her  head  turned  by  the  first  open  declaration  of  her  power  in 
such  a  transformation.  Every  change  is  a  confession  of  servi- 
tude. 

"  They  were  right,  there  is  a  great  happiness  in  being  un- 
derstood," she  said  to  herself,  calling  to  mind  her  unworthy 
instructors. 

When  the  two  lovers  had  scanned  the  house  in  a  rapid  all- 
embracing  survey,  they  exchanged  a  glance  of  intelligence. 
For  both  it  was  as  though  a  heavenly  dew  had  fallen  with 
cooling  power  upon  their  fevered  suspense.     "  I  have  been  in 


70  A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

hell  for  an  hour;  now  the  heavens  open,"  spoke  the  eyes  of 
Raoul. 

"  I  knew  you  were  there,  but  am  I  free?  "  replied  those  of 
the  countess. 

None  but  slaves  of  every  variety,  including  thieves,  spies, 
lovers,  and  diplomatists,  know  all  that  a  flash  of  the  eye  can 
convey  of  information  or  delight.  They  alone  can  grasp  the 
intelligence,  the  sweetness,  the  humor,  the  wrath,  and  the 
malice  with  which  this  changeful  lightning  of  the  soul  is  preg- 
nant. Raoul  felt  his  passion  kick  against  the  pricks  of  neces- 
sity and  grow  more  vigorous  in  presence  of  obstacles.  Be- 
tween the  step  on  which  he  was  perched  and  the  box  of  the 
Comtesse  Felix  de  Vandenesse  was  a  space  of  barely  thirty 
feet,  impassable  for  him.  To  a  passionate  man  who,  so  far  in 
his  life,  had  known  but  little  interval  between  desire  and 
satisfaction,  this  abyss  of  solid  ground,  which  could  not  be 
spanned,  inspired  a  wild  desire  to  spring  upon  the  countess 
in  a  tiger-like  bound.  In  a  paroxysm  of  fury  he  tried  to  feel 
his  way.  He  bowed  openly  to  the  countess,  who  replied  with 
a  slight,  scornful  inclination  of  the  head,  such  as  women  use 
for  snubbing  their  admirers.  F^lix  turned  to  see  who  had 
greeted  his  wife,  and  perceiving  Nathan,  of  whom  he  took  no 
notice  beyond  a  mute  inquiry  as  to  the  cause  of  this  liberty, 
turned  slowly  away  again,  with  some  words  probably  approv- 
ing of  his  wife's  assumed  coldness.  Plainly  the  door  of  the 
box  was  barred  against  Nathan,  who  hurled  a  threatening 
glance  at  Felix,  which  it  required  no  great  wit  to  interpret  by 
one  of  Florine's  sallies :  "  Lookout  for  your  hat ;  it  will  soon 
not  rest  on  your  head  !  " 

Mme.  d'Espard,  one  of  the  most  insolent  women  of  her 
time,  who  had  been  watching  these  manoeuvres  from  her  box, 
now  raised  her  voice  in  some  meaningless  bravo.  Raoul,  who 
was  standing  beneath  her,  turned.  He  bowed,  and  received 
in  return  a  gracious  smile,  which  so  clearly  said :  "If  you  are 
dismissed  there,  come  to  me!"  that  Raoul  left  his  column 


A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE.  71 

and  went  to  pay  a  visit  to  Mme.  d'Espard.  He  wanted  to  be 
seen  there  in  order  to  show  that  fellow  Vandenesse  that  his 
fame  was  equal  to  a  patent  of  nobility,  and  that  before  Nathan 
blazoned  doors  flew  open.  The  marchioness  made  him  sit 
down  in  the  front  of  the  box  opposite  to  her.  She  intended 
to  play  the  inquisitor. 

"  Madame  Felix  de  Vandenesse  looks  charming  to-night," 
she  said,  congratulating  him  on  the  lady's  dress,  as  though  it 
were  a  book  he  had  just  published. 

"  Yes,"  said  Raoul  carelessly,  "  feathers  are  very  becoming 
to  her.  But  she  is  too  constant,  she  wore  them  the  day  before 
yesterday,"  he  added,  with  an  easy  air,  as  though  by  his 
critical  attitude  to  repudiate  the  flattering  complicity  which 
the  marchioness  had  laid  to  his  charge, 

"You  know  the  proverb?"  she  replied.  "'Every  feast 
day  should  have  a  morrow.'  " 

At  the  game  of  repartee  literary  giants  are  not  always  equal 
to  ladies  of  title.  Raoul  took  refuge  in  a  pretended  stupidity, 
the  last  resource  of  clever  men. 

"  The  proverb  is  true  for  me,"  he  said,  casting  an  admiring 
look  on  the  marchioness. 

"Your  pretty  speech,  sir,  comes  too  late  for  me  to  accept 
it,"  she  replied,  laughing,  "  Come,  come,  don't  be  a  prude ; 
in  the  small  hours  of  yesterday  morning,  you  thought  Mme. 
de  Vandenesse  entrancing  in  feathers;  she  was  perfectly  aware 
of  it,  and  puts  them  on  again  to  please  you.  She  is  in  love 
with  you,  and  you  adore  her ;  no  time  has  been  lost,  certainly ; 
still  I  see  nothing  in  it  but  what  is  most  natural.  If  it  were 
not  as  I  say,  you  would  not  be  tearing  your  glove  to  pieces  in 
your  rage  at  having  to  sit  here  beside  me,  instead  of  in  the 
box  of  your  idol — which  has  just  been  shut  in  your  face  by 
supercilious  authority — whispering  low  what  you  would  fain 
hear  said  aloud." 

Raoul  was  in  fact  twisting  one  of  his  gloves,  and  the  hand 
which  he  showed  was  surprisingly  white. 


72  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

"She  has  won  from  you,"  she  went  on,  fixing  his  hand 
with  an  impertinent  stare,  "  sacrifices  which  you  refused  to 
society.  She  ought  to  be  enchanted  at  her  success,  and,  I 
daresay,  she  is  a  little  vain  of  it ;  but  in  her  place  I  think 
I  should  be  more  so.  So  far  she  has  only  been  a  woman  of 
good  parts,  now  she  will  pass  for  a  woman  of  genius.  We 
shall  find  her  portrait  in  one  of  those  delightful  books  of 
yours.  But,  my  dear  friend,  do  me  the  kindness  not  to  for- 
get Vandenesse.  That  man  is  really  too  fatuous.  I  could 
not  stand  such  self-complacency  in  Jupiter  Olympus  himself, 
who  is  said  to  have  been  the  only  god  in  mythology  exempt 
from  domestic  misfortune." 

"Madame,"  cried  Raoul,  "you  credit  me  with  a  very 
base  soul  if  you  suppose  that  I  would  make  profit  out  of  my 
feelings,  out  of  my  love.  Sooner  than  be  guilty  of  such  liter- 
ary dishonor,  I  would  follow  the  English  custom,  and  drag  a 
woman  to  market  with  a  rope  round  her  neck." 

"But  I  know  Marie,"  said  the  marquise;  "she  will  ask 
you  to  do  it." 

"  No,  she  is  incapable  of  it,"  protested  Raoul. 

"  You  know  her  intimately  then  ?  " 

Nathan  could  not  help  laughing  that  he,  a  playwright, 
should  be  caught  in  this  little  comedy  dialogue. 

"The  play  is  no  longer  there,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
footlights;  "  it  rests  with  you." 

To  hide  his  confusion,  he  took  the  opera-glass  and  began 
to  examine  the  house. 

"Are  you  vexed  with  me?"  said  the  marchioness,  with  a 
sidelong  glance  at  him.  "Wouldn't  your  secret  have  been 
mine  in  any  case?  It  won't  be  hard  to  make  peace.  Come 
to  my  house,  I  am  at  home  every  Wednesday;  the  dear 
countess  won't  miss  an  evening  when  she  finds  you  come, 
and  I  shall  be  the  gainer.  Sometimes  she  comes  to  me  before 
four  and  five  o'clock  ;  I  will  be  very  good-natured,  and  add 
you  to  the  select  few  admitted  at  that  hour." 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  78 

"  Only  see,"  said  Raoul,  "  how  unjust  people  are!  I  was 
told  you  were  spiteful." 

*'  Oh  !  so  I  am,"  she  said,  "when  I  want  to  be.  One  has 
to  fight  for  one's  own  hand.  But  as  for  your  countess,  I 
adore  her.  You  have  no  idea  how  charming  she  is  !  You 
will  be  the  first  to  have  your  name  inscribed  on  her  heart 
with  that  infantine  joy  which  causes  all  lovers,  even  drill- 
sergeants,  to  cut  their  initials  on  the  bark  of  a  tree.  A 
woman's  first  love  is  a  luscious  fruit.  Later,  you  see,  there  is 
always  some  calculation  in  our  attentions  and  caresses.  I'm 
an  old  woman,  and  can  say  what  I  like  ;  nothing  frightens 
me,  not  even  a  journalist.  Well,  then,  in  the  autumn  of  life, 
we  know  how  to  make  you  happy ;  but  when  love  is  a  new 
thing,  we  are  happy  ourselves,  and  that  gives  endless  satisfac- 
tion to  your  pride.  We  are  full  of  delicious  surprises  then, 
because  the  heart  is  fresh.  You,  who  are  a  poet,  must  prefer 
flowers  to  fruit.     Six  months  hence  you  shall  tell  me  about  it." 

Raoul  began  with  denying  everything,  as  all  men  do  when 
they  are  brought  to  the  bar,  but  found  that  this  only  supplied 
weapons  to  so  practiced  a  champion.  Entangled  in  the  noose 
of  a  dialogue,  manipulated  with  all  the  dangerous  adroitness 
of  a  woman  and  a  Parisian,  he  dreaded  to  let  fall  admissions 
which  would  serve  as  fuel  for  the  lady's  wit,  and  he  beat  a 
prudent  retreat  when  he  saw  Lady  Dudley  enter. 

"  Well,"  said  the  Englishwoman,  "  how  far  have  they  gone?" 

"  They  are  desperately  in  love.    Nathan  has  just  told  me  so." 

"I  wish  he  had  been  uglier,"  said  Lady  Dudley,  with  a 
venomous  scowl  at  Felix.  "  Otherwise,  he  is  exactly  what  I 
would  have  wished  ;  he  is  the  son  of  a  Jewish  broker,  who 
died  bankrupt  shortly  after  his  marriage ;  unfortunately,  his 
mother  was  a  Catholic,  and  has  made  a  Christian  of  him." 

Nathan's  origin,  which  he  kept  a  most  profound  secret,  was 
a  new  discovery  to  Lady  Dudley,  who  gloated  in  advance  over 
the  delight  of  drawing  thence  some  pointed  shaft  to  aim  at 
Vandenesse. 


74  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

"And  I've  just  asked  him  to  my  house!  "  exclaimed  the 
marchioness. 

"  Wasn't  he  at  my  ball  yesterday?  "  replied  Lady  Dudley. 
"There  are  pleasures,  my  dear,  for  which  one  pays  heavily." 

The  news  of  a  mutual  passion  between  Raoul  and  Mme.  de 
Vandenesse  went  the  round  of  society  that  evening,  not  with- 
out calling  forth  protests  and  doubts ;  but  the  countess  was 
defended  by  her  friends,  Lady  Dudley,  Mmes.  d'Espard  and 
de  Manerville,  with  a  clumsy  eagerness  which  gained  some 
credence  for  the  rumor.  Yielding  to  necessity,  Raoul  went 
on  Wednesday  evening  to  Mme.  d'Espard's,  and  found  there 
the  usual  distinguished  company.  As  Felix  did  not  accom- 
pany his  wife,  Raoul  was  able  to  exchange  a  few  words  with 
Marie,  the  tone  of  which  expressed  more  than  the  matter. 
The  countess,  warned  against  malicious  gossips  by  Mme. 
Octave  de  Camps,  realized  her  critical  position  before  society, 
and  contrived  to  make  Raoul  understand  it  also. 

Amidst  this  gay  assembly,  the  lovers  found  their  only  joy 
in  a  long  draught  of  the  delicious  sensations  arising  from  the 
words,  the  voice,  the  gestures,  and  the  bearing  of  the  loved 
one.  The  soul  clings  desperately  to  such  trifles.  At  times 
the  eyes  of  both  will  converge  upon  the  same  spot,  embedding 
there,  as  it  were,  a  thought  of  which  they  thus  risk  the  inter- 
change. They  talk,  and  longing  looks  follow  the  peeping 
foot,  the  quivering  hand,  the  fingers  which  toy  with  some 
ornament,  flicking  it,  twisting  it  about,  then  dropping  it,  in 
significant  fashion.  It  is  no  longer  words  or  thoughts  which 
make  themselves  heard,  it  is  things ;  and  that  in  so  clear  a 
voice,  that  often  the  man  who  loves  will  leave  to  others  the 
task  of  handing  a  cup  of  tea,  a  sugar-basin,  or  what  not,  to  his 
lady-love,  in  dread  lest  his  agitation  should  be  visible  to  eyes 
which,  apparently  seeing  nothing,  see  all.  Thronging  de- 
sires, mad  wishes,  passionate  thoughts,  find  their  way  into  a 
glance  and  die  out  there.  The  pressure  of  a  hand,  eluding  a 
thousand  Argus  eyes,  is  eloquent  as  written  pages,  burning  as  a 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  75 

kiss.  Love  grows  by  all  that  it  denies  itself;  it  treads  on  ob- 
stacles to  reach  the  higher.  And  barriers,  more  often  cursed 
than  cleared,  are  hacked  and  cast  into  the  fire  to  feed  its  flames. 
Here  it  is  that  women  see  the  measure  of  their  power,  when 
love,  that  is  boundless,  coils  up  and  hides  itself  within  a  thirsty 
glance,  a  nervous  thrill,  behind  the  screen  of  formal  civility. 
How  often  has  not  a  single  word,  on  the  last  step  of  a  staircase, 
paid  the  price  of  an  evening's  silent  agony  and  empty  talk  ! 

Raoul,  careless  of  social  forms,  gave  rein  to  his  anger  in 
brilliant  oratory.  Everybody  present  could  hear  the  lion's 
roar,  and  recognized  the  artist's  nature,  intolerant  of  disap- 
pointment. This  Orlando-like  rage,  this  cutting  and  slashing 
wit,  this  laying  on  of  epigrams  as  with  a  club,  enraptured 
Marie  and  amused  the  onlookers,  much  as  the  spectacle  of  a 
maddened  bull,  covered  with  streamers,  in  a  Spanish  amphi- 
theatre, might  have  done. 

"  Hit  out  as  much  as  you  like,  you  can't  clear  the  ring," 
Blondet  said  to  him. 

This  sarcasm  restored  to  Raoul  his  presence  of  mind  ;  he 
ceased  making  an  exhibition  of  himself  and  his  vexation.  The 
marchioness  came  to  offer  him  a  cup  of  tea,  and  said,  loud 
enough  for  Marie  to  hear — 

"You  are  really  very  amusing;  come  and  see  me  sometimes 
at  four  o'clock." 

Raoul  took  offense  at  the  word  "amusing,"  although  it 
had  served  as  passport  to  the  invitation.  He  began  to  give 
ear,  as  actors  do,  when  they  are  attending  to  the  house  and 
not  to  the  stage. 

Blondet  took  pity  on  him. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  drawing  him  aside  into  a 
corner,  "you  behave  in  polite  society  exactly  as  you  might  at 
Florine's.  Here  nobody  flies  into  a  passion,  nobody  lectures ; 
from  time  to  time  a  smart  thing  may  be  said,  and  you  must 
look  most  impassive  at  the  very  moment  when  you  long  to 
throw  some  one  out  of  the  window;   a  gentle   raillery   is 


76  A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

allowed,  and  some  show  of  attention  to  the  lady  you  adore, 
but  you  can't  lie  down  and  kick  like  a  donkey  in  the  middle  of 
the  road.  Here,  my  good  soul,  love  proceeds  by  rule. 
Either  carry  off  Madame  de  Vandenesse  or  behave  like  a 
gentleman.  You  are  too  much  the  lover  of  one  of  your  own 
romances." 

Nathan  listened  with  hanging  head ;  he  was  a  wild  beast 
caught  in  the  toils. 

"I  shall  never  set  foot  here  again,"  said  he.  "This 
papier-mache  marchioness  puts  too  high  a  price  upon  her  tea. 
She  thinks  me  amusing,  does  she?  Now  I  know  why  St. 
Just  guillotined  all  these  people." 

"You'll  come  back  to-morrow." 

Blondet  was  right.  Passion  is  as  cowardly  as  it  is  cruel. 
The  next  day,  after  fluctuating  long  between  "I'll  go"  and 
**  I  won't  go,"  Raoul  left  his  partners  in  the  middle  of  an  im- 
portant discussion  to  hasten  to  the  Faubourg  Si.  Honore  and 
Mme.  d'Espard's  house.  The  sight  of  Rastignac's  elegant 
cabriolet  driving  up  as  he  was  paying  his  cabman  at  the  door 
hurt  Nathan's  vanity;  he  too  would  have  such  a  cabriolet,  he 
resolved,  and  the  correct  tiger.  The  carriage  of  the  countess 
was  in  the  court,  and  Raoul's  heart  swelled  with  joy  as  he 
perceived  it.  Marie's  movements  responded  to  her  longings 
with  the  regularity  of  a  clock-hand  propelled  by  its  spring. 
She  was  reclining  in  an  armchair  by  the  fire-place  in  the 
small  drawing-room.  Instead  of  looking  at  Nathan  as  he 
entered,  she  gazed  at  his  reflection  in  the  mirror,  feeling  sure 
that  the  mistress  of  the  house  would  turn  to  him.  Love, 
baited  by  society,  is  forced  to  have  recourse  to  these  little 
tricks ;  it  endows  with  life  mirrors,  muffs,  fans,  and  numberless 
objects,  the  purpose  of  which  is  not  clear  at  first  sight,  and  is 
indeed  never  found  out  by  many  of  the  women  who  make  use 
of  them. 

"The  prime  minister,"  said  Mme.  d'Espard,  with  a  glance 
at  de  Marsay,  as  she  drew  Nathan   into   the   conversation, 


Marie —  held  out  her  hand  to  raoul. 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  77 

**  was  just  declaring,  when  you  came  in,  that  there  is  an  under- 
standing between  the  Royalists  and  Republicans.  What  do 
you  say?     You  ought  to  know  something  about  it." 

"Supposing  it  were  so,  where  would  be  the  harm?"  said 
Raoul.  "  The  object  of  our  animosity  is  the  same;  we  agree 
in  our  hatred,  and  differ  only  in  what  we  love." 

"The  alliance  is  at  least  singular,"  said  de  Marsay,  with  a 
glance  which  embraced  Raoul  and  the  Comtesse  F^lix. 

"It  will  not  last,"  said  Rastignac,  who,  like  all  novices, 
took  his  politics  a  little  too  seriously. 

"What  do  you  say,  darling?"  asked  Mme.  d'Espard  of 
the  countess. 

"  I !  oh  !  I  know  nothing  about  politics." 

"You  will  learn,  madame,"  said  de  Marsay,  "and  then 
you  will  be  doubly  our  enemy." 

Neither  Nathan  nor  Marie  understood  de  Marsay's  sally  till 
he  had  gone.  Rastignac  followed  him,  and  Mme.  d'Espard 
went  with  them  both  as  far  as  the  door  of  the  first  drawing- 
room.  Not  another  thought  did  the  lovers  give  to  the 
minister's  epigram ;  they  saw  the  priceless  wealth  of  a  few 
minutes  before  them.  Marie  swiftly  removed  her  glove,  and 
held  out  her  hand  to  Raoul,  who  took  it  and  kissed  it  with 
the  fervor  of  eighteen.  The  eyes  of  the  countess  were  elo- 
quent of  a  devotion  so  generous  and  absolute  that  Raoul  felt 
his  own  moisten.  A  tear  is  always  at  the  command  of  men 
of  nervous  temperament. 

"  Where  can  I  see  you — speak  to  you?  "  he  said.  "  It  will 
kill  me  if  I  must  perpetually  disguise  my  looks  and  my  voice, 
my  heart  and  my  love." 

Moved  by  the  tear,  Marie  promised  to  go  to  the  Bois  when- 
ever the  weather  did  not  make  it  impossible.  This  promise 
gave  Raoul  more  happiness  than  Florine  had  brought  him  in 
five  years. 

"  I  have  so  much  to  say  to  you  !  I  suffer  so  from  the  silence 
to  which  we  are  condemned  !  " 


78  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

The  countess  was  gazing  at  him  rapturously,  unable  to  reply, 
when  the  marchioness  returned. 

"  So  !  "  she  exclaimed  as  she  entered,  "  you  had  no  retort 
for  de  Marsay  !  ' ' 

**  One  must  respect  the  dead,"  replied  Raoul.  "  Don't  you 
see  that  he  is  at  the  last  gasp?  Rastignac  is  acting  as  nurse, 
and  hopes  to  be  mentioned  in  the  will." 

The  countess  made  an  excuse  of  having  calls  to  pay,  and 
took  leave,  as  a  precaution  against  gossip.  For  this  quarter 
of  an  hour  Raoul  had  sacrified  precious  time  and  most  urgent 
claims.  Marie  as  yet  knew  nothing  of  the  details  of  a  life, 
which,  while  to  all  appearance  gay  and  idle  as  a  bird's,  had 
yet  its  side  of  very  complicated  business  and  extremely  taxing, 
work.  When  two  beings,  united  by  an  enduring  love,  lead  a 
life  which  each  day  knits  them  more  closely  in  the  bonds  of 
mutual  confidence  and  by  the  interchange  of  counsel  over  dif- 
ficulties as  they  arise ;  when  two  hearts  pour  forth  their  sorrows, 
night  and  morning,  with  mingled  sighs;  when  they  share  the 
same  suspense  and  shudder  together  at  a  common  danger,  then 
everything  is  taken  into  account.  The  woman  then  can 
measure  the  love  in  an  averted  gaze,  the  cost  of  a  hurried 
visit,  she  has  her  part  in  the  business,  the  hurrying  to  and  fro, 
the  hopes  and  anxieties  of  the  hard- worked,  harassed  man. 
If  she  complains,  it  is  only  of  the  actual  conditions;  her 
doubts  are  at  rest,  for  she  knows  and  appreciates  the  details 
of  his  life.  But  in  the  opening  chapters  of  passion,  when  all 
is  eagerness,  suspicion,  and  demands ;  when  neither  of  the 
two  know  themselves  or  each  other;  when,  in  addition,  the 
woman  is  an  idler,  expecting  love  to  stand  guard  all  day  at 
her  door — one  of  those  who  have  an  exaggerated  estimate  of 
their  own  claims,  and  choose  to  be  obeyed  even  when  obed- 
ience spells  ruin  to  a  career — then  love,  in  Paris  and  at  the 
present  time,  becomes  a  superhuman  task.  Women  of  fashion 
have  not  yet  thrown  off  the  traditions  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, when  every  man  had  his  own  place  marked  out  for  him. 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  79 

Few  of  them  know  anything  of  the  difficulties  of  existence  for 
the  bulk  of  men,  all  with  a  position  to  carve  out,  a  distinction 
to  win,  a  fortune  to  consolidate.  Men  of  well-established  for- 
tune are,  at  present,  rare  exceptions.  Only  the  old  have  time 
for  love ;  men  in  their  prime  are  chained,  like  Nathan,  to  the 
galleys  of  ambition. 

Women,  not  yet  reconciled  to  this  change  of  habits,  cannot 
bring  themselves  to  believe  any  man  short  of  the  time  which 
is  so  cheap  a  commodity  with  them;  they  can  imagine  no 
occupations  or  aims  other  than  their  own.  Had  the  gallant 
vanquished  the  hydra  of  Lerna  to  get  at  them,  he  would  not 
rise  one  whit  in  their  estimation ;  the  joy  of  seeing  him  is 
everything.  They  are  grateful  because  he  makes  them  happy, 
but  never  think  of  asking  what  their  happiness  has  cost  him. 
Whereas,  if  they,  in  an  idle  hour,  have  devised  some  strata- 
gem such  as  they  abound  in,  they  flaunt  it  in  your  eyes  as 
something  superlative.  You  have  wrenched  the  iron  bars  of 
destiny,  while  they  have  played  with  subterfuge  and  diplomacy 
— and  yet  the  palm  is  theirs,  dispute  were  vain.  After  all, 
are  they  not  right  ?  The  woman  who  gives  up  all  for  you, 
should  she  not  receive  all?  She  exacts  no  more  than  she 
gives. 

Raoul,  during  his  walk  home,  pondered  on  the  difficulty  of 
directing  at  one  and  the  same  time  a  fashionable  intrigue,  the 
ten-horse  chariot  of  journalism,  his  theatrical  pieces,  and  his 
entangled  personal  affairs. 

"It  will  be  a  wretched  paper  to-night,"  he  said  to  himself 
as  he  went  ;  "  nothing  from  my  hand,  and  the  second  number 
too!" 

Mme.  Felix  de  Vandenesse  went  three  times  to  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne  without  seeing  Raoul ;  she  came  home  agitated  and 
despairing.  Nathan  was  determined  not  to  show  himself  till 
he  could  do  so  in  all  the  glory  of  a  press  magnate.  He  spent 
the  week  in  looking  out  for  a  pair  of  horses  and  a  suitable 
cabriolet  and  tiger,  in  persuading  his  partners  of  the  necessity 


80  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

of  sparing  time  so  valuable  as  his,  and  in  getting  the  purchase 
put  down  to  the  general  expenses  of  the  paper.  Massol  and 
du  Tillet  agreed  so  readily  to  this  request  that  he  thought 
them  the  best  fellows  in  the  world.  But  for  this  assistance, 
life  would  have  been  impossible  for  Raoul.  As  it  was,  it  be- 
came so  taxing,  in  spite  of  the  exquisite  delights  of  ideal  love 
with  which  it  was  mingled,  that  many  men,  even  of  excellent 
constitution,  would  have  broken  down  under  the  strain  of 
such  distractions.  A  violent  and  reciprocal  passion  is  bound 
to  bulk  largely  even  in  an  ordinary  life ;  but  when  its  object 
is  a  woman  of  conspicuous  position,  like  Mme.  de  Vandenesse, 
it  cannot  fail  to  play  havoc  with  that  of  a  busy  man  like 
Nathan. 

Here  are  some  of  the  duties  to  which  his  passion  gave  the 
first  place  :  Almost  every  day  between  two  and  three  o'clock 
he  rode  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  in  the  style  of  the  purest 
dandy.  He  then  learned  in  what  house  or  at  what  theatre  he 
might  meet  Mme.  de  Vandenesse  again  that  evening.  He 
never  left  a  reception  till  close  upon  midnight,  when  he  had 
at  last  succeeded  in  snapping  up  some  long  watched-for  words, 
a  few  crumbs  of  tenderness,  artfully  dropped  below  the  table, 
or  in  a  corridor,  or  on  the  way  to  the  carriage.  Marie,  who 
had  launched  him  in  the  world  of  fashion,  generally  got  him 
invitations  to  dinner  at  the  houses  where  she  visited.  Nothing 
could  be  more  natural.  Raoul  was  too  proud,  and  also  too 
much  in  love,  to  say  a  word  about  business.  He  had  to  obey 
every  caprice  and  whim  of  his  innocent  tyrant  ;  while,  at  the 
same  time,  following  closely  the  debates  in  the  Chamber  and 
the  rapid  current  of  politics,  directing  his  paper,  and  bringing 
out  two  plays  which  were  to  furnish  the  sinews  of  war.  If 
ever  he  asked  to  be  let  oflf  a  ball,  a  concert,  or  a  drive,  a  look 
of  annoyance  from  Mme.  de  Vandenesse  was  enough  to  make 
him  sacrifice  his  interests  to  her  pleasure. 

When  he  returned  home  from  these  engagements  at  one  or 
two  in  the  morning,  he  worked  till  eight  or  nine,  leaving 


A  DAUGHTER   GF  EVE.  81 

scant  time  for  sleep.  Directly  he  was  up,  he  plunged  into 
consultations  with  influential  supporters  as  to  the  policy  of 
the  paper.  A  thousand  and  one  internal  difficulties  mean- 
time would  await  his  settlement,  for  journalism  nowadays  has 
an  aii-embracing  grasp.  Business,  public  and  private  interests, 
new  ventures,  the  personal  sensitiveness  of  literary  men,  as 
well  as  their  compositions — nothing  is  alien  to  it.  When, 
harassed  and  exhausted,  Nathan  flew  from  his  office  to  the 
theatre,  from  the  theatre  to  the  Chamber,  from  the  Chamber 
to  a  creditor,  he  had  next  to  present  himself,  calm  and  smil- 
ing,  before  Marie,  and  canter  beside  her  carriage  with  the 
ease  of  a  man  who  has  no  cares,  and  whose  only  business  is 
pleasure.  When,  as  sole  reward  for  so  many  unnoticed  acts 
of  devotion,  he  found  only  the  gentlest  of  words  or  prettiest 
assurances  of  undying  attachment,  a  warm  pressure  of  the 
hand,  if  by  chance  they  escaped  observation  for  a  moment,  or 
one  or  two  passionate  expressions  in  response  to  his  own, 
Raoul  began  to  feel  that  it  was  mere  Quixotism  not  to  make 
known  the  extravagant  price  he  paid  for  these  "  modest 
favors,"  as  our  fathers  might  have  called  them. 

The  opportunity  for  an  explanation  was  not  long  in  coming. 
On  a  lovely  April  day  the  countess  took  Nathan's  arm  in  a 
secluded  corner  of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  She  had  a  pretty 
little  quarrel  to  pick  with  him  about  one  of  those  molehills 
which  women  have  the  art  of  turning  into  mountains.  There 
was  no  smiling  welcome,  no  radiant  brow,  the  eyes  did  not 
sparkle  with  fun  or  happiness ;  it  was  a  serious  and  burdened 
woman  who  met  him. 

"What  is  wrong?"  said  Nathan. 

"  Oh  !  Why  worry  about  trifles  ?  "  she  said.  "  Surely  you 
know  how  childish  women  are." 

"Are  you  angry  with  me?" 

"  Should  I  be  here  ?  " 

"But  you  don't  smile,  you  don't  seem  a  bit  glad  to  see 
me." 
6 


82  A   DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

"I  suppose  you  mean  that  I  am  cross,"  she  said,  with  the 
resigned  air  of  a  woman  determined  to  be  a  martyr. 

Nathan  walked  on  a  few  steps,  an  overshadowing  fear  grip- 
ping at  his  heart.     After  a  moment's  silence,  he  went  on — 

**It  can  only  be  one  of  those  idle  fears,  those  vague  suspi- 
cions, to  which  you  give  such  exaggerated  importance.  A 
straw,  a  thread  in  your  hands  is  enough  to  upset  the  balance 
of  the  world  !  " 

"Satire  next! Well,  I  expect  it,"  she  said,  hanging 

her  head. 

"  Marie,  my  beloved,  do  you  not  see  that  I  say  this  only  to 
wring  your  secret  from  you?" 

"My  secret  will  remain  a  secret,  even  after  I  have  told 
you." 

"Well,  tell  me " 

"I  am  not  loved,"  she  said,  with  the  stealthy  side-look, 
which  is  a  woman's  instrument  for  probing  the  man  she  means 
to  torture. 

"  Not  loved  !  "  exclaimed  Nathan. 

**  No  ;  you  have  too  many  things  on  your  mind.  What  am 
I  in  the  midst  of  this  whirl  ?  You  are  only  too  glad  to  forget 
me.     Yesterday  I  came  to  the  Bois,  I  waited  for  you " 

"But " 

"  I  had  put  on  a  new  dress  for  you,  and  you  did  not  come. 
Where  were  you  ? '  * 

"But " 

"I  couldn't  tell.  I  went  to  Mme.  d'Espard's;  you  were 
not  there." 

"But " 

"  At  the  opera  in  the  evening  my  eyes  never  left  the  bal- 
cony. Every  time  the  door  opened  my  heart  beat  so  that  I 
thought  it  would  break." 

"But " 

"  What  an  evening !  You  have  no  conception  of  such 
agony !  " 


A  DAUGHTER    OP  EVE.  88 

"But " 

"It  eats  Into  life " 

"But " 

"Well,"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  replied  Nathan,  "  it  does  eat  into  life,  and  in  a  few 
months  you  will  have  consumed  mine.  Your  wild  reproaches 
have  torn  from  me  my  secret  also.  Ah  I  you  are  not  loved  ! 
My  God,  you  are  loved  too  well." 

He  drew  a  graphic  picture  of  his  straits.  He  told  her  how 
he  sat  up  at  nights,  how  he  had  to  keep  certain  engagements 
at  fixed  hours,  and  how,  above  all  things,  he  was  bound  to 
succeed.  He  showed  her  how  insatiable  were  the  claims  of  a 
paper,  compelled,  at  risk  of  losing  its  reputation,  to  be  before- 
hand with  an  accurate  judgment  on  every  event  that  took 
place,  and  how  incessant  was  the  call  for  a  rapid  survey  of 
questions,  which  chased  each  other  like  clouds  over  the  hori- 
zon in  that  period  of  political  convulsions. 

In  a  moment  the  mischief  was  done.  Raoul  had  been  told 
by  the  Marquise  d'Espard  that  nothing  is  so  ingenuous  as  a 
first  love,  and  it  soon  appeared  that  the  countess  erred  in 
loving  too  much.  A  loving  woman  meets  every  difficulty 
with  delight  and  fresh  proof  of  her  passion..  On  seeing  the 
panorama  of  this  varied  life  unrolled  before  her,  the  countess 
was  filled  with  admiration.  She  had  pictured  Nathan  a  great 
man,  but  now  he  seemed  transcendent.  She  blamed  herself 
for  an  excessive  love,  and  begged  him  to  come  only  when  he 
was  at  liberty;  Nathan's  ambitious  struggles  sank  to  nothing 
before  the  glance  she  cast  toward  heaven  !  She  would  wait ! 
Henceforth  her  pleasure  should  be  sacrificed.  She,  who  had 
wished  to  be  a  stepping-stone,  had  proved  only  an  obstacle. 
She  wept  despairingly. 

"Women,  it  seems,"  she  said  with  tearful  eyes,  "are  fit 
only  to  love.  Men  have  a  thousand  different  ways  of  spending 
their  energy ;  all  we  can  do  is  to  dream,  and  pray,  and  wor- 
ship." 


84  A   DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

So  much  love  deserved  a  recompense.  Peeping  around, 
like  a  nightingale  ready  to  alight  from  its  branch  beside  a 
spring  of  water,  she  tried  to  make  sure  whether  they  were 
alone  in  this  solitude,  and  whether  no  spectator  lurked  in  the 
silence.  Then  raising  her  head  to  Raoul,  who  bent  his  to 
meet  her,  she  allowed  him  a  kiss,  the  first,  the  only,  contra- 
band kiss  she  was  destined  to  give.  At  that  instant  she  was 
happier  than  she  had  been  for  five  years,  while  Raoul  felt  him- 
self repaid  for  all  that  he  had  gone  through. 

They  had  to  return  to  their  carriages,  and  walked  on,  hardly 
knowing  whither,  along  the  road  from  Auteuil  to  Boulogne, 
moving  with  the  even  rhythmic  step  familiar  to  lovers.  Con- 
fidence came  to  Raoul  in  that  kiss,  tendered  with  the  modest 
frankness  that  is  the  outcome  of  a  pure  mind.  All  the  evil 
came  from  society,  not  from  this  woman,  who  was  so  abso- 
lutely his.  The  hardships  of  his  frenzied  existence  were  noth- 
ing now  to  him  ;  and  Marie,  in  the  ardor  of  her  first  passion, 
was  bound,  womanlike,  soon  to  forget  them,  since  she  could 
not  witness  from  hour  to  hour  the  terrible  throes  of  a  life  too 
exceptional  to  be  easily  imagined. 

Marie,  penetrated  by  the  grateful  veneration,  characteristic 
of  a  woman's  love,  hastened  with  resolute  and  active  tread 
along  the  sand-strewn  alley.  Like  Raoul,  she  spoke  but  little, 
but  that  little  came  from  the  heart,  and  was  full  of  meaning. 
The  sky  was  clear ;  buds  were  forming  on  the  larger  trees, 
where  already  spots  of  green  enlivened  the  delicate  brown 
tracery ;  while  the  shrubs,  birches,  willows,  and  poplars 
showed  their  first  tender  and  still  unsubstantial  foliage.  What 
heart  can  resist  the  harmony  of  such  a  scene  ?  Love  was  now 
interpreting  nature  to  the  countess,  as  it  had  already  inter- 
preted the  ways  of  men. 

"  If  only  I  were  your  first  love  I  "  she  breathed. 

"You  are,"  replied  Raoul.  **  We  have  each  been  the  first 
to  reveal  true  love  to  the  other." 

Nor  did  he  speak  falsely.    In  posing  before  this  fresh  young 


A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE.  86 

heart  as  a  man  of  pure  life,  he  became  affected  by  the  noble 
ocntiments  with  which  he  embroidered  his  talk.  His  passion, 
at  first  a  matter  of  policy  and  ambition,  had  become  sincere. 
Starting  from  falsehood,  he  had  arrived  at  truth.  Add  to  this 
that  all  authors  have  a  natural  instinct,  repressed  only  with 
effort,  to  admire  moral  beauty.  Lastly,  a  man  has  but  to 
make  enough  sacrifices  in  order  to  become  attached  to  the 
person  demanding  them.  Women  of  the  world  know  this  in- 
tuitively, just  as  courtesans  do,  and  it  may  even  be  that  they 
unconsciously  act  upon  the  knowledge. 

The  countess,  after  her  first  burst  of  surprised  gratitude, 
was  delighted  to  have  inspired  so  much  devotion  and  been 
the  cause  of  such  astounding  feats.  The  man  who  loved  her 
was  worthy  of  her.  Raoul  had  not  the  least  idea  to  what 
this  playing  at  greatness  would  commit  him.  He  forgot  that 
no  woman  will  allow  her  lover  to  fall  below  her  ideal  of  him, 
and  that  nothing  paltry  can  be  suffered  in  a  god.  Marie  had 
never  heard  that  solution  of  the  problem  which  Raoul  had  dis- 
closed to  his  friends  in  the  course  of  the  supper  at  Vary's. 
His  struggles  as  a  man  of  letters,  forcing  his  way  upward  from 
the  masses,  had  filled  the  first  ten  years  of  early  manhood  ] 
now  he  was  resolved  to  be  loved  by  one  of  the  queens  of  the 
fashionable  world.  Vanity,  without  which,  as  Chamfort  said, 
love  has  no  backbone,  sustained  his  passion,  and  could  not 
fail  to  augment  it  day  by  day. 

"Can  you  swear  to  me,"  said  Marie,  "that  you  are  noth- 
ing, and  never  will  be  anything,  to  another  woman?  " 

"  My  life  has  no  space  for  another,  even  were  my  heart 
free,"  was  his  reply,  made  in  all  sincerity,  so  completely  had 
Florine  dropped  out  of  sight. 

And  she  believed  him. 

When  they  reached  the  road  where  the  carriages  were 
waiting,  Marie  let  go  the  arm  of  Nathan,  who  at  once 
assumed  a  respectful  attitude,  as  though  this  were  a  chance 
meeting.     He  walked  with  her,  hat  in  hand,  as  far  as  the 


86  A   DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

carriage,  and  then  followed  it  down  the  avenue  Charles  X., 
inhaling  the  dust  it  raised,  and  watching  the  drooping  feathers 
swaying  in  the  wind. 

In  spite  of  Marie's  generous  resolutions  of  sacrifice,  Raoul, 
spurred  on  by  passion,  continued  to  appear  wherever  she 
went ;  he  adored  the  half-vexed,  half-smiling  air  with  which 
she  vainly  tried  to  scold  him  for  wasting  the  time  he  could  so 
badly  spare.  Marie  began  to  take  Raoul's  work  in  hand,  laid 
down  what  he  was  to  do  every  hour  in  the  day,  and  remained 
at  home  herself,  so  as  to  leave  him  no  excuse  for  taking  a 
holiday.  She  read  his  paper  every  morning,  and  she  trump- 
eted the  praises  of  Etienne  Lousteau  the  feuilletonist,  whom 
she  thought  charming,  of  Felicien  Vernou,  Claud  Vignon, 
and  all  the  staff.  It  was  she  who  advised  Raoul  to  deal  gener- 
ously with  de  Marsay  when  he  died,  and  she  read  with  dizzy 
pride  the  fine  dignified  tribute  which  he  paid  the  late  Minis- 
ter, while  deploring  his  Machiavellianism  and  hatred  of  the 
masses.  She  was,  of  course,  present  in  a  stage-box  at  the 
Gymnase  on  the  first  night  of  the  play,  to  which  Raoul  was 
trusting  for  the  funds  of  his  undertaking,  and  which  seemed 
to  her,  deceived  by  the  hired  applause,  an  immense  success. 

"You  did  not  come  to  say  farewell  to  the  opera?"  asked 
Lady  Dudley,  to  whose  house  she  went  after  the  perform- 
ance. 

**  No  ;  I  was  at  the  Gymnase.     It  was  a  first  night." 

"I  can't  bear  vaudeville.  I  feel  to  it  as  Louis  XIV.  did  to 
a  Teniers,"  said  Lady  Dudley. 

"For  my  part,"  remarked  Mme.  d'Espard,  "  I  think  they 
have  improved  very  much.  Vaudevilles  now  are  charming 
comedies,  full  of  wit,  and  the  work  of  very  clever  men.  I 
enjoy  them  immensely." 

"The  acting  is  so  good  too,"  said  Marie.  "The  play 
to-night  at  the  Gymnase  went  capitally  ;  it  seemed  to  suit  the 
actors,  and  the  dialogue  is  spirited  and  amusing." 

"A  regular  Beaumarchais  business,"  said  Lady  Dudley. 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  87 

"Monsieur  Nathan  is  not  a  Moliere   yet,  but "  said 

Mme.  d'Espard,  with  a  look  at  the  countess. 

♦*  But  he  makes  vaudevilles,"  said  Mme.  Charles  de  Vande- 
nesse. 

"  And  unmakes  ministers,"  retorted  Mme.  de  Manerville. 

The  countess  remained  silent ;  she  racked  her  brains  for 
pungent  epigrams  ;  her  heart  burned  with  rage,  but  nothing 
better  occurred  to  her  than — 

**  Some  day  perhaps  he  will  make  one.'' 

All  the  women  exchanged  glances  of  mysterious  under- 
standing. When  Mme.  de  Vandenesse  had  gone,  Mo'ina  de 
Saint-Heren  exclaimed — 

*'  Why,  she  adores  Nathan  !" 

*'  She  makes  no  mystery  of  it,"  said  Mme.  d'Espard. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

SUICIDE. 

With  the  month  of  May,  Vandenesse  took  his  wife  away  to 
their  country  seat.  Here  her  only  comfort  was  in  passionate 
letters  from  Raoul,  to  whom  she  wrote  every  day. 

The  absence  of  the  countess  might  possibly  have  saved 
Raoul  from  the  abyss  over  which  he  hung  had  Florine  been 
with  him.  But  he  was  alone  amongst  friends,  secretly  turned 
to  enemies  ever  since  his  determination  to  take  the  whip 
hand  became  plain.  For  the  moment  he  was  an  object  of 
hatred  to  his  staff,  who  reserved ,  however,  the  right  of  hold- 
ing out  a  consoling  hand  in  case  he  failed,  or  of  cringing  to 
him  should  he  succeed.  This  is  the  way  in  the  literary  world, 
where  people  are  friendly  only  to  their  inferiors,  and  the 
rising  man  has  everybody  against  him.  This  universal 
jealousy  increases  tenfold  the  chance  of  mediocrities,  who 
arouse  neither  envy  nor  suspicion.  Like  moles,  they  work 
their  way  underground,  and,  with  all  their  incompetence,  find 


B8  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

more  than  one  snug  corner  in  the  official  lists,  while  really 
able  men  are  struggling  and  blocking  each  other  at  the  dooi 
of  promotion.  Florine,  with  the  inborn  gift  of  such  women 
for  putting  their  finger  on  the  real  thing  among  a  thousand 
presentHients  of  it,  would  at  once  have  detected  the  under- 
hand animosity  of  these  false  friends. 

But  this  was  not  Raoul's  greatest  danger.  His  two  partners, 
the  barrister  Massol  and  the  banker  du  Tillet,  had  conceived 
the  idea  of  harnessing  his  energy  to  the  car  in  which  they 
should  loll  at  ease,  with  the  full  intention  of  turning  him 
adrift  as  soon  as  his  resources  failed  to  keep  the  paper  going, 
or  of  wresting  it  from  his  hands  the  moment  they  saw  their 
way  to  using  this  powerful  instrument  for  their  own  purposes. 
To  their  minds,  Nathan  represented  so  much  capital  to  run 
through,  a  literary  force,  equal  to  that  of  ten  ordinary  writers, 
to  exploit. 

Massol  belonged  to  the  type  of  barrister  who  takes  a  flux  of 
words  for  eloquence  and  can  weary  any  audience  by  his  pro- 
lixity, who  in  every  gathering  of  men  acts  as  a  blight,  shrivel- 
ing up  their  enthusiasm,  yet  who  is  determined  at  all  costs 
to  be  a  somebody.  Massol's  ambition,  however,  no  longer 
pointed  to  the  ministry  of  justice.  Within  four  years  he  had 
seen  five  or  six  men  clothed  with  the  robes  of  office,  and  this 
had  cured  him  of  the  fancy.  Meanwhile  he  was  ready  to 
accept,  as  something  in  hand,  a  professorship  or  a  post  under 
the  Council,  with  of  course  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor 
to  season  the  dish.  Du  Tillet  and  the  Baron  de  Nucingen 
had  guaranteed  him  the  cross  and  the  desired  post  if  he  fell 
in  with  their  views;  and  as  he  judged  them  to  be  in  a  better 
position  than  Nathan  for  fulfilling  their  promises,  he  followed 
them  blindly. 

The  better  to  hoodwink  Raoul,  these  men  allowed  him  to 
exercise  uncontrolled  power.  Du  Tillet  only  made  use  of  the 
paper  for  his  stock-jobbing  interests,  which  were  outside 
Raoul's  ken.     He  had,  however,  already  given  Rastignac  to 


A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  89 

understand,  through  the  Baron  de  Nucingen,  that  this  organ 
was  ready  to  give  a  silent  adhesion  to  the  Government,  on  the 
one  condition  that  the  Government  should  support  du  Tillet's 
candidature  as  successor  to  M.  de  Nucingen,  who  would  be  a 
peer  some  day,  and  who  at  present  sat  for  a  rotten  borough, 
where  the  paper  was  lavishly  circulated,  gratis.  Thus  was 
Raoul  jockeyed  by  both  the  banker  and  the  barrister,  who 
took  a  huge  delight  in  seeing  him  lord  it  at  the  office,  pocket- 
ing all  the  gains,  as  well  as  the  less  substantial  dues  of  vanity 
and  the  like.  Nathan  could  not  praise  them  enough ;  again, 
as  when  they  furnished  his  stables,  they  were  *'  the  best  fellows 
in  the  world,"  and  he  actually  believed  that  he  was  duping 
them. 

Men  of  imagination,  whose  whole  life  is  based  on  hope, 
never  will  admit  that  in  business  the  moment  of  danger  is  that 
when  everything  goes  to  a  wish.  Such  a  moment  of  triumph 
had  come  for  Nathan,  and  he  made  full  use  of  it,  letting  him- 
self be  seen  both  in  political  and  financial  circles.  Du  Tillet 
introduced  him  to  the  Nucingens,  and  he  was  received  in  a 
most  friendly  way  by  Mme.  de  Nucingen,  not  so  much  for  his 
own  sake  as  for  that  of  Mme.  de  Vandenesse.  Yet,  when  she 
alluded  to  the  countess,  Nathan  thought  himself  a  marvel  of 
discretion  for  taking  refuge  behind  Florine,  and  he  enlarged 
with  generous  self-complacency  on  his  relations  with  the  actress, 
which  nothing,  he  declared,  could  break.  How  could  any 
man  abandon  an  assured  happiness  for  the  coquetry  of  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Germain? 

Nathan,  beguiled  by  Nucingen  and  Rastignac,  du  Tillet  and 
Blondet,  lent  an  ostentatious  support  to  the  doctrinaire  party 
in  the  formation  of  one  of  their  ephemeral  cabinets.  At  the 
same  time,  wishing  to  start  in  public  life  with  clean  hands,  he 
refused,  with  much  parade,  to  accept  any  share  in  the  profits 
of  certain  enterprises,  which  had  been  launched  by  the  help 
of  his  paper.  And  this  was  the  man  who  never  hesitated  to 
compromise  a  friend,  or  was  hampered  by  a  scruple  in  his 


90  A   DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

relations  with  a  certain  class  of  business  men  at  critical 
moments  !  Such  startling  contrasts,  born  of  vanity  and  ambi- 
tion, may  often  be  found  in  careers  like  his.  The  mantle 
must  make  a  brave  show  to  the  public,  but  scraps  raised  from 
a  friend  will  serve  to  patch  it. 

But  in  the  very  midst  of  all  his  successes,  Nathan  was 
roused  to  some  uneasiness  by  a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour  which 
he  spent  over  his  business  accounts  two  months  after  the  de- 
parture of  the  countess.  Du  Tillet  had  advanced  a  hundred 
thousand  francs.  The  money  given  by  Florine,  the  third 
part  of  his  original  capital,  had  gone  in  government  dues  and 
in  the  expenses  of  starting  the  paper.,  which  were  enormous. 
The  future  had  to  be  provided  for.  The  banker  assisted  him 
by  accepting  bills  for  fifty  thousand  francs  at  four  months, 
and  thereby  fastened  a  halter  round  the  author's  neck.  Thanks 
to  this  subvention,  the  paper  was  in  funds  again  for  six  months. 
In  the  eyes  of  many  literary  men,  six  months  is  an  eternity. 
Further,  by  dint  of  puffs  and  by  sending  round  canvassers, 
who  offered  illusory  advantages  to  subscribers,  they  managed 
to  raise  the  cijculation  by  two  thousand.  This  semi-triumph 
was  an  incentive  to  cast  his  latest  borrowings  into  the  melting 
pot.  One  more  effort  of  his  wits,  and  a  political  lawsuit  or  a 
sham  persecution  might  give  Raoul  a  place  among  those 
modern  Condottieri,*  whose  ink  has  to-day  taken  the  place  of 
gunpowder. 

Unfortunately,  these  steps  were  already  taken  when  Florine 
returned  with  about  fifty  thousand  francs.  Instead  of  setting 
this  aside  as  a  reserve,  Raoul,  confident  of  a  success  which 
was  his  only  safety,  humiliated  at  the  thought  of  having  once 
before  accepted  money  from  the  actress,  feeling  that  his  love 
had  raised  him  to  a  higher  plane,  and  dazzled  by  the  specious 
plaudits  of  his  flatterers,  deceived  Florine  as  to  his  situation, 
and  obliged  her  to  spend  the  money  in  setting  up  house  again. 
Under  present  circumstances,  a  smart  and  dashing  style  was, 
*  Mercenary  Italian  soldiers. 


A   DAUGHTER   OF  EVE.  91 

he  assured  her,  essential.  The  actress,  who  needed  no  spur- 
ring, got  into  debt  for  thirty  thousand  francs.  Instead  of  a 
flat,  Florine  took  a  charming  house  in  the  Rue  Pigalle,  where 
her  old  friends  came  about  her  again.  The  house  of  a  woman 
in  Florine's  position  supplied  a  neutral  ground,  most  con- 
venient for  pushing  politicians,  who,  following  the  example 
of  Louis  XIV.  with  the  Dutch,  entertained  at  Raoul's  house 
in  Raoul's  absence. 

Nathan  had  reserved  for  the  return  of  the  actress  a  play,  the 
chief  part  in  which  suited  her  admirably.  This  vaudeville- 
drama  was  intended  as  Raoul's  farewell  to  the  theatre.  The 
newspapers,  by  an  attention  to  Raoul  which  cost  them  noth- 
ing, planned  beforehand  such  an  ovation  to  Florine  that  the 
Comddie-Fran^aise  began  to  speak  of  engaging  her.  Critics 
pointed  to  her  as  the  direct  successor  of  Mile.  Mars.  This 
triumph  threw  the  actress  so  far  off  her  balance  as  to  prevent 
her  examining  carefully  the  state  of  Nathan's  affairs;  her  life 
was  a  whirl  of  banquets  and  revelry.  Queen  in  a  horde  of 
bustling  suitors,  each  with  something  to  push — a  book,  a  play, 
a  ballet-girl,  a  theatre,  a  company,  or  an  advertisement — she 
reveled  in  the  delights  of  this  press  influence,  which  she 
pictured  as  the  dawn  of  ministerial  patronage.  In  the  mouths 
of  those  who  frequented  her  house,  Nathan  was  a  politician  of 
high  standing.  His  scheme  would  succeed,  he  would  be 
elected  to  the  Chamber,  and  beyond  doubt  have  a  turn  at 
office,  like  so  many  others.  Actresses  are  rarely  slow  to  be- 
lieve what  flatters  their  hopes.  How  could  Florine,  lauded 
in  the  notices,  mistrust  the  paper  or  its  contributors?  She 
was  too  ignorant  of  the  mechanism  of  the  press  to  be  un- 
easy about  its  resources,  and  women  of  her  stamp  look  only 
to  results. 

As  for  Nathan,  he  no  longer  doubted  that  in  the  course  of 
the  next  session  he  would  come  to  the  front,  along  with  two 
former  journalists,  one  of  whom,  already  in  office,  was  anxious 
to  strengthen  his  position  by  turning  out  his  colleagues.   After 


92  A   DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

six  months  of  absence,  Nathan  was  glad  to  see  Florine  again, 
and  lazily  fell  back  into  his  old  habits.  The  coarse  web  of  his 
life  was  covertly  embroidered  by  him  with  the  loveliest  flowers 
of  his  ideal  passion  and  with  the  pleasures  scattered  by  Florine. 
His  letters  to  Marie  were  masterpieces  of  love,  elegance,  and 
style.  He  made  of  her  the  guiding  star  of  his  life ;  he  under- 
took nothing  without  consulting  his  good  genius.  Miserable 
at  being  on  the  popular  side,  he  was  tempted  at  times  to  join 
the  aristocrats ;  but,  with  all  his  skill  in  turning  his  back  on 
himself,  it  seemed  impossible  to  make  the  leap  from  left  to 
right ;  it  was  easier  to  get  office. 

Marie's  precious  letters  were  kept  in  a  portfolio  with  secret 
springs,  an  invention  either  of  Huret  or  Fichet,  the  two  me- 
chanics who  carry  on  a  war  of  emulation  in  the  newspaper 
columns  and  on  the  walls  of  Paris  as  to  the  comparative  effi- 
cacy and  unobtrusiveness  of  their  locks.  The  portfolio  lay  in 
Florine's  new  boudoir,  where  Raoul  worked.  No  one  is  more 
easily  deceived  than  the  woman  who  is  used  to  frankness ;  she 
has  no  suspicions,  because  she  believes  herself  to  know  and  see 
all  that  goes  on.  Moreover,  since  her  return  the  actress  took 
her  part  in  Nathan's  daily  life,  which  appeared  to  go  on  just 
as  usual.  It  never  would  have  occurred  to  her  that  this  writ- 
ing-case, which  she  had  barely  noticed,  and  which  Raoul 
made  no  mystery  about  locking,  contained  love  tokens  in  the 
shape  of  a  rival's  letters,  addressed,  at  Raoul's  request,  to  the 
office.  To  all  appearance,  therefore,  Nathan's  situation  was 
of  the  brightest.  He  had  plenty  of  nominal  friends.  Two 
plays,  at  which  he  had  worked  jointly  with  others,  and  which 
had  just  made  a  success,  kept  him  in  luxuries  and  removed  all 
anxiety  for  the  future.  Indeed,  his  debt  to  his  friend  du  Tillet 
never  gave  him  a  moment's  uneasiness. 

"  How  can  one  suspect  a  friend?  "  he  said,  when  now  and 
again  Blondet  would  give  utterance  to  doubts,  which  were 
natural  to  his  analytic  turn  of  mind. 

**  But  we  have  no  need  to  fear  our  enemies,"  said  Florine. 


A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  93 

Nathan  stood  up  for  du  Tillet.  Du  Tillet  was  the  best, 
most  good-natured,  and  most  honorable  of  men. 

This  life  upon  the  tight-rope,  without  even  a  steadying  pole, 
which  might  have  appalled  a  mere  onlooker  who  had  grasped 
its  meaning,  was  watched  by  du  Tillet  with  the  stoicism  and 
hard-heartedness  of  a  parvenu.  At  times  a  fierce  irony  broke 
through  the  genial  cordiality  of  his  manner  with  Nathan. 
One  day  he  pressed  his  hand  as  he  was  leaving  Florine's,  and 
watched  him  get  into  his  cabriolet. 

"  There  goes  our  dandy  ofiF  to  the  Bois  in  tiptop  style,"  he 
said  to  Lousteau,  the  very  incarnation  of  envy,  **  and  in  six 
months  he  may  be  laid  by  the  heels  in  Clichy." 

"  Not  he  !  "  exclaimed  Lousteau  ;  "think  of  Florine." 

**  And  how  do  you  know,  my  good  fellow,  that  he'll  keep 
Florine?  I  tell  you,  you're  worth  a  thousand  of  him,  and  I 
expect  six  months  will  see  you  in  the  editorial  chair." 

In  October  the  bills  fell  due,  and  du  Tillet  graciously  re- 
newed them,  but  this  time  for  two  months  only,  and  the 
amount  was  increased  by  the  discount  and  by  a  new  loan. 
Confident  of  victory,  Raoul  drained  his  till.  An  overmaster- 
ing desire  to  see  him  was  bringing  the  countess  back  to  town 
a  month  earlier  than  usual — within  a  few  days,  in  fact — and 
it  would  not  do  to  be  crippled  for  lack  of  funds  when  the 
moment  had  come  for  entering  the  field  again. 

The  pen  is  always  bolder  than  the  tongue,  and  the  letters 
she  received  had  raised  the  Comtesse  de  Vandenesse  to  the 
highest  pitch  of  excitement.  Thoughts  clothed  in  the  flowers 
of  rhetoric  can  express  so  much  without  meeting  a  repulse. 
She  saw  in  Raoul  one  of  the  finest  intellects  of  the  day,  a 
delicately  strung  and  unappreciated  heart,  which  in  its  un- 
stained purity  was  worthy  of  adoration.  She  watched  him 
put  forth  a  bold  hand  upon  the  citadel  of  power.  Ere  long 
that  voice,  so  tuneful  in  love,  would  thunder  from  the  tiibune. 
Marie  was  now  entirely  absorbed  in  that  life  of  intersecting 
circles,  which  resemble  the  orbits  of  the  planets,  and  revolve 


94  A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

around  the  sun  of  society  as  their  centre.  Finding  no  flavor 
in  the  calm  pleasures  of  home,  she  received  the  shock  of  every 
agitation  in  this  wliirling  life,  brought  home  to  her  by  the 
pen  of  a  literary  artist  and  a  lover.  She  showered  kisses  on 
letters  which  had  been  written  in  the  thick  of  press  combats, 
or  purloined  from  hours  of  study.  She  realized  now  what 
they  had  cost  and  was  well  assured  of  being  his  only  love, 
with  no  rivals  but  glory  and  ambition.  Even  in  the  depths  of 
her  solitude  she  found  occupation  for  all  her  powers  and  could 
dwell  with  satisfaction  upon  the  choice  of  her  heart.  There 
was  no  one  like  Nathan. 

Fortunately,  her  withdrawal  into  the  country  and  the  bar- 
riers thus  placed  between  her  and  Raoul  had  silenced  ill- 
natured  gossip.  During  the  last  days  of  autumn,  therefore, 
Marie  and  Raoul  were  able  once  more  to  begin  their  walks  in 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  their  only  meeting-place  until  the 
season  opened.  Raoul  had  now  a  little  more  leisure  to  enjoy 
the  exquisite  delights  of  his  ideal  life,  and  also  to  practice  con- 
cealment with  Florine ;  his  work  at  the  office  had  ceased  to  be 
so  hard  since  things  were  well  in  train  there  and  each  member 
of  the  staff  understood  his  duty.  Involuntarily  he  made  com- 
parisons which,  though  always  favorable  to  Florine,  did  the 
countess  no  injury.  Exhausted  once  more  by  the  various  shifts 
to  which  his  passion,  alike  of  the  head  and  of  the  heart,  for  a 
woman  of  fashion  impelled  him,  Raoul  put  forth  superhuman 
energy  in  the  effort  to  appear  simultaneously  on  three  different 
stages — society,  the  office,  and  the  greenroom.  While  Florine, 
always  grateful  and  taking  almost  a  partner's  share  in  his  work 
and  difficulties,  appeared  and  vanished  as  required,  and  show- 
ered on  him  a  wealth  of  substantial  and  unpretentious  happi- 
ness, which  called  forth  no  remorse,  the  unapproachable 
countess,  with  her  hungry  eyes,  had  already  forgotten  his 
stupendous  labors  and  the  trouble  it  often  cost  him  to  get  a 
passing  glimpse  of  her.  Florine,  far  from  trying  to  impose 
her  will,  would  let  herself  be  taken  up  and  put  down  with  the 


A   DAUGHTER    OE  EVE.  95 

good-natured  indifference  of  a  cat,  whicli  always  falls  on  its 
feet  and  walks  off,  shaking  its  ears.  This  easy  way  of  life  is 
admirably  fitted  to  the  habits  of  brain-workers ;  and  it  is  only 
in  the  artist's  nature  to  take  full  advantage  of  it,  as  Nathan 
did,  whilst  not  abandoning  the  pursuit  of  that  fine  ideal  love, 
that  splendid  passion,  v/hich  delighted  at  once  his  poetic 
instincts,  the  germ  of  greatness  in  him,  and  his  social  ambi- 
tions. Fully  aware  how  disastrous  would  be  the  effect  of  any 
indiscretion,  he  told  himself  it  was  impossible  that  either  the 
countess  or  Florine  should  find  out  anything.  The  chasm 
between  them  was  too  great. 

With  the  beginning  of  winter  Raoul  once  more  made  his 
appearance  in  society,  and  this  time  in  the  heyday  of  his 
glory;  he  was  all  but  a  personage.  Rastignac,  who  had 
fallen  with  the  Government  which  went  to  pieces  on  de 
Marsay's  death,  leaned  upon  Raoul,  and  in  return  .gave  him 
the  support  of  his  good  word.  Mme.  de  Vandenesse  was 
curious  to  know  whether  her  husband  had  changed  his  opinion 
of  Raoul.  After  the  lapse  of  a  year  she  questioned  him 
again,  in  the  expectation  of  a  signal  revenge,  such  as  the 
noblest  and  least  earthly  of  women  do  not  disdain ;  for  we 
may  be  sure  that  the  angels  in  heaven  have  not  lost  all 
thought  of  self  as  they  range  themselves  round  the  throne. 

**  That  he  should  become  the  tool  of  unscrupulous  men  was 
the  one  thing  lacking  to  him,"  replied  the  count. 

Felix,  with  the  keen  insight  of  a  politician  and  a  man  of 
the  world,  had  thoroughly  gauged  Raoul's  position.  He 
calmly  explained  to  his  wife  how  the  attempt  of  Fieschi  had 
resulted  in  rallying  many  lukewarm  people  round  the  interests 
threatened  in  the  person  of  Louis-Philippe.  The  compara- 
tively neutral  papers  would  go  down  in  circulation  as  journal- 
ism, along  with  politics,  fell  into  more  definite  lines.  If 
Nathan  had  put  his  capital  into  his  paper,  he  would  soon  be  done 
for.  This  summary  of  the  situation,  so  clear  and  accurate  in 
spite  of  its  brevity  and  the  purely  abstract  point  of  view  from 


96  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

which  it  was  made,  and  coming  from  a  man  well  used  to 
calculate  the  chances  of  party,  frightened  Mme.  de  Van- 
denesse. 

"  Do  you  take  much  interest  in  him  then  ?  "  asked  Felix  of 
his  wife. 

"  Oh  !  I  like  his  humor,  and  he  talks  well." 

The  reply  came  so  naturally  that  it  did  not  rouse  the 
count's  suspicions. 

At  four  o'clock  next  day  at  Mme.  d'Espard's,  Marie  and 
Raoul  held  a  long  whispered  conversation.  The  countess 
gave  expression  to  fears  which  Raoul  dissipated,  only  too 
glad  of  this  opportunity  to  damage  the  husband's  authority 
under  a  battery  of  epigrams.  He  had  his  revenge  to  take. 
The  count,  thus  handled,  appeared  a  man  of  narrow  mind 
and  behind  the  day,  who  judged  the  Revolution  of  July  by 
the  standard  of  the  Restoration,  and  shut  his  eyes  to  the 
triumph  of  the  middle-class,  that  new  and  substantial  factor 
to  be  reckoned  with,  for  a  time  at  least  if  not  permanently, 
in  every  society.  The  great  feudal  lords  of  the  past  were 
impossible  now,  the  reign  of  true  merit  had  begun.  Instead 
of  weighing  well  the  indirect  and  impartial  warning  he  had 
received  from  an  experienced  politician  in  the  expression  of 
his  deliberate  opinion,  Raoul  made  it  an  occasion  for  display, 
mounted  his  stilts,  and  draped  himself  in  the  purple  of 
success.  Where  is  the  woman  who  would  not  believe  her 
lover  rather  than  her  husband  ? 

Mme.  de  Vandenesse,  reassured,  plunged  once  more  into 
that  life  of  repressed  irritation,  of  little  stolen  pleasures,  and 
of  covert  hand-pressings  which  had  carried  her  through  the 
preceding  winter  ;  but  which  can  have  no  other  end  than  to 
drag  a  woman  over  the  boundary-line  if  the  man  she  loves 
has  any  spirit  and  chafes  against  the  curb.  Happily  for  her, 
Raoul,  kept  in  check  by  Florine,  was  not  dangerous.  He  was 
engrossed,  too,  in  business  which  did  not  allow  him  to  turn 
his  good    fortune   to   account.     Nevertheless,    some  sudden 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  97 

disaster,  a  renewal  of  difficulties,  an  outburst  of  impatience, 
might  at  any  moment  precipitate  the  countess  into  the  abyss. 

Raoul  was  becoming  conscious  of  this  disposition  in  Marie 
when,  toward  the  end  of  December,  du  Tillet  asked  for  his 
money.  The  wealthy  banker  told  Raoul  he  was  hard  up,  and 
advised  him  to  borrow  the  amount  for  a  fortnight  from  a 
money-lender  called  Gigonnet — a  twenty-five  per  cent,  prov- 
idence for  all  young  men  in  difficulties.  In  a  few  days  the 
paper  would  make  a  fresh  financial  start  with  the  new  year, 
there  would  be  cash  in  the  counting-house,  and  then  du  Tillet 
would  see  what  he  could  do.  Beside,  why  should  not  Nathan 
write  another  play  ?  Nathan  was  too  proud  not  to  resolve  on 
paying  at  any  cost.  Du  Tillet  gave  him  a  letter  for  the 
money-lender,  in  response  to  which  Gigonnet  handed  him  the 
amount  required  and  took  bills  payable  in  twenty  days. 
Raoul,  instead  of  having  his  suspicions  aroused  by  this  accom- 
modating reception,  was  only  vexed  that  he  had  not  asked  for 
more.  This  is  the  way  with  men  of  the  greatest  intellectual 
power;  they  see  only  matter  for  pleasantry  in  a  grave  predica- 
ment, and  reserve  their  wits  for  writing  books,  as  though 
afraid  there  might  not  be  enough  of  them  to  go  round  if  ap- 
plied to  daily  life.  Raoul  told  Florine  and  Blondet  how  he 
had  spent  his  morning ;  he  drew  a  faithful  picture  of  Gigonnet 
and  his  surroundings,  his  cheap  fleur-de-lys  (lily-flowered) 
wall-paper,  his  staircase,  his  asthmatic  bell,  his  stag's-foot 
knocker,  his  worn  little  door-mat,  his  heart  as  devoid  of  fire 
as  his  eye;  he  made  them  laugh  at  this  new  "uncle,"  and 
neither  du  Tillet's  professed  need  of  money  nor  the  facility  of 
the  usurer  caused  them  the  least  uneasiness.  One  can't  ac- 
count for  every  whim  ! 

"He  has  only  taken  fifteen  per  cent,  from  you,"  said 
Blondet ;  "  he  deserves  your  thanks.  At  twenty-five  they 
cease  to  be  gentlemen  ;  at  fifty,  usury  begins ;  at  this  figure 
they  are  only  contemptible  !  " 

"  Contemptible  !  "  cried  Florine.  "  I  should  like  to  know 
7 


98  A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

which  of  your  friends  would  lend  you  money  at  this  rate  with- 
out posing  as  a  benefactor?  " 

"She  is  quite  right;  I  am  heartily  glad  to  be  quit  of  du 
Tillet's  debt,"  said  Raoul. 

Most  mysterious  is  this  lack  of  penetration  in  regard  to 
their  private  affairs  on  the  part  of  men  generally  so  keen- 
sighted  !  It  may  be  that  it  is  impossible  for  the  mind  to  be 
fully  equipped  on  every  side;  it  may  be  that  artists  live  too 
entirely  in  the  present  to  trouble  about  the  future ;  or  it  may 
be  that,  always  on  the  lookout  for  the  ridiculous,  they  are 
blind  to  traps,  and  cannot  believe  in  any  one  daring  to  fool 
them. 

The  end  did  not  tarry.  Twenty  days  later  the  bills  were 
protested ;  but  in  the  court  Florine  had  a  respite  of  twenty- 
five  days  applied  for  and  granted.  Raoul  made  an  effort  to 
see  where  he  stood ;  he  sent  for  the  books ;  and  from  these  it 
appeared  that  the  receipts  of  the  paper  covered  two-thirds  of 
the  cost,  and  that  the  circulation  was  going  down.  The  great 
man  became  uneasy  and  gloomy,  but  only  in  the  company  of 
Florine,  in  whom  he  confided.  Florine  advised  him  to  bor- 
row on  the  security  of  plays  not  yet  written,  selling  them  in  a 
lump,  and  parting  at  the  same  time  with  the  royalties  on  his 
acted  plays.  By  this  means  Nathan  raised  twenty  thousand 
francs,  and  reduced  his  debt  to  forty  thousand. 

On  the  loth  of  February  the  twenty-five  days  expired.  Du 
Tillet,  determined  to  oust  Nathan,  as  a  rival,  from  tlie  con- 
stituency, where  he  intended  to  stand  himself  (leaving  to 
Massol  another  which  was  in  the  pocket  of  the  Government), 
got  Gigonnet  to  refuse  Raoul  all  quarter.  A  man  laid  by  the 
heels  for  debt  can  hardly  present  himself  as  a  candidate ;  and 
the  embryo  minister  might  disappear  in  the  maw  of  a  debtor's 
prison.  Florine  herself  was  in  constant  communication  with 
the  bailiffs  on  account  of  her  own  debts,  and  in  this  crisis  the 
only  resource  left  to  her  was  the  "I!"  of  Medea,  for  her 
furniture  was  seized.     The  aspirant  to  fame  heard  on  every 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  99 

side  the  crack  of  ruin  in  his  freshly  reared  but  baseless  fabric. 
Unequal  to  the  task  of  sustaining  so  vast  an  enterprise,  how 
could  he  think  of  beginning  again  to  lay  the  foundations  ? 
Nothing  remained,  therefore,  but  to  perish  beneath  his  crum- 
bling visions.  His  love  for  the  countess  still  brought  flashes 
of  life,  but  only  to  the  outer  mask ;  within,  all  hope  was  dead. 
He  did  not  suspect  du  Tillet  ;  the  usurer  alone  filled  his  view. 
Rastignac,  Blondet,  Lousteau,  Vernou,  P'inot,  Massol,  care- 
fully refrained  from  enlightening  a  man  of  such  dangerous 
energy.  Rastignac,  who  aimed  at  getting  back  to  power, 
made  common  cause  with  Nucingen  and  du  Tillet.  The  rest 
found  measureless  delight  in  watching  the  expiring  agony  of 
one  of  their  comrades,  convicted  of  the  crime  of  aiming  at 
mastery.  Not  one  of  them  would  breathe  a  word  to  Florine ; 
to  her,  on  the  contrary,  they  were  full  of  Raoul's  praises. 
*'  Nathan's  shoulders  were  broad  enough  to  bear  the  world  ; 
he  would  come  out  all  right,  no  fear !  " 

"The  circulation  went  up  two  yesterday,"  said  Blondet 
solemnly.  "  Raoul  will  be  elected  yet.  As  soon  as  the  bud- 
get is  through  the  dissolution  will  be  announced." 

Nathan,  dogged  by  the  law,  could  no  longer  look  to  money- 
lenders; Florine,  her  furniture  distrained,  had  no  hope  left 
save  in  the  chance  of  inspiring  a  passion  in  some  good-natured 
fool,  who  never  turns  up  at  the  right  moment.  Nathan's 
friends  were  all  men  without  money  or  credit.  His  political 
chances  would  be  ruined  by  his  arrest.  To  crown  all,  he  saw 
himself  pledged  to  huge  tasks,  paid  for  in  advance  ;  it  was  a 
bottomless  pit  of  horrors  into  which  he  gazed. 

Before  an  outlook  so  threatening  his  self-confidence  deserted 
him.  Would  the  Comtesse  de  Vandenesse  unite  her  fate  to 
his  and  fly  with  him  ?  Only  a  fully  developed  passion  can 
bring  a  woman  to  this  fatal  step,  and  theirs  had  never  bound 
them  to  each  other  in  the  mysterious  ties  of  illicit  rapture. 
Even  supposing  the  countess  would  follow  him  abroad,  she 
would  come  penniless,  bare,  and  stripped,  and  would  prove 


IGO  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

an  added  burden.  A  proud  man,  of  second-rate  quality,  like 
Nathan,  could  not  fail  to  see  in  suicide,  as  Nathan  did,  the 
sword  with  which  to  cut  this  Gordian  knot.  The  idea  of 
overthrow,  in  full  view  of  that  society  into  which  he  had 
worked  his  way  and  which  he  had  aspired  to  dominate,  of 
leaving  the  countess  enthroned  there,  while  he  fell  back  to 
join  the  mud-spattered  rank  and  file,  was  unbearable.  Mad- 
ness danced  and  rang  her  bells  before  the  door  of  that  airy 
palace  in  which  the  poet  had  made  his  home.  In  this  ex- 
tremity, Nathan  waited  upon  a  chance,  and  put  off  killing 
himself  till  the  last  moment. 

During  the  last  days,  occupied  with  the  notice  of  judgment, 
the  writs,  and  publication  of  order  of  arrest,  Raoul  could  not 
succeed  in  throwing  off  that  coldly  sinister  look,  observed  by 
noticing  people  to  haunt  those  marked  out  for  suicide,  or 
whose  minds  are  dwelling  on  it.  The  dismal  ideas  which 
they  fondle  cast  a  gray,  gloomy  shade  over  the  forehead ; 
their  smile  is  vaguely  ominous,  and  they  move  with  solemnity. 
The  unhappy  wretches  seem  resolved  to  suck  dry  the  golden 
fruit  of  life  ;  they  cast  appealing  glances  on  every  side,  the 
toll  of  the  passing-bell  is  in  their  ears,  and  their  minds 
wander.  These  alarming  symptoms  were  perceived  by  Marie 
one  night  at  Lady  Dudley's.  Raoul  had  remained  alone  on 
a  sofa  in  the  boudoir,  while  the  rest  of  the  company  were 
conversing  in  the  drawing-room  ;  when  the  countess  came  to 
the  door,  he  did  not  raise  his  head ;  he  heard  neither  Marie's 
breath  nor  the  rustle  of  her  silk  dress ;  his  eyes,  stupid  with 
pain,  were  fixed  on  a  flower  in  the  carpet.  "  Sooner  die 
than  abdicate,"  was  his  thought.  It  is  not  every  man  who 
has  a  Saint-Helena  to  retire  upon.  Suicide,  moreover,  was 
at  that  time  in  vogue  in  Paris  :  what  more  suitable  key  to  the 
mystery  of  life  for  a  skeptical  society?  Raoul,  then,  had  just 
resolved  to  put  an  end  to  himself.  Despair  must  be  propor- 
tioned to  hope,  and  that  of  Raoul  could  find  no  issue  but  tne 
grave. 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  101 

**  What  is  the  matter?  "  said  Marie,  flying  to  him. 

**  Nothing,"  he  replied. 

"Lovers  have  a  way  of  using  this  word  "nothing"  which 
implies  exactly  the  opposite.     Marie  gave  a  little  shrug. 

**  What  a  child  you  are  !  "  she  said.  "  Something  has  gone 
wrong  with  you?" 

"  Not  with  me,"  he  said.  "Beside,"  he  added  affection- 
ately, "you  will  know  it  all  too  soon,  Marie." 

"What  were  you  thinking  of  when  I  came  in?"  she  said, 
with  an  air  that  would  not  be  denied. 

"Are  you  determined  to  know  the  truth?" 

She  bowed  her  head. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  you  ;  I  said  to  myself  that  many  men 
in  my  place  would  have  wished  to  be  loved  without  reserve : 
I  am  loved,  am  I  not  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  said. 

Braving  the  risk  of  interruption,  Raoul  put  his  arm  around 
her  and  drew  her  near  enough  to  kiss  her  on  the  forehead,  as 
he  continued — 

"And  I  am  leaving  you  pure  and  free  from  remorse.  I 
might  drag  you  into  the  abyss,  but  you  stand  upon  the  brink 
in  all  your  stainless  glory.  One  thought,  though,  haunts 
me " 

"What  thought?" 

"You  will  despise  me." 

She  smiled  a  proud  smile. 

"  Yes,  you  will  never  believe  in  the  holiness  of  my  love  for 
you;  and  then  they  will  slander  me,  I  know.  No  woman 
can  conceive  how,  from  out  of  the  filth  in  which  we  wallow, 
we  raise  our  eyes  to  heaven  in  smgle-hearted  worship  of  some 
radiant  star — some  Marie.  They  mix  up  this  adoration  with 
painful  questions ;  they  cannot  understand  that  men  of  high 
intellect  and  poetic  vision  are  able  to  wean  their  souls  from 
pleasure  and  keep  them  to  lay  entire  upon  some  cherished 
altar.     And  yet,  Marie,  our  devotion  to  the  ideal  is  more 


102  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

ardent  than  yours ;  we  embody  it  in  a  woman,  while  she  does 
not  even  seek  for  it  in  us." 

"  Why  this  effusion  ?  "  she  said,  with  the  irony  of  a  woman 
who  has  no  misgivings. 

"I  am  leaving  France;  you  will  learn  how  and  why  to- 
morrow from  a  letter  which  my  servant  will  bring  you.  Fare- 
well, Marie." 

Raoul  went  out,  after  pressing  the  countess  to  his  heart  in 
an  agonized  embrace,  and  left  her  dazed  with  misery. 

"What  is  wrong,  dear?"  said  the  Marquise  d'Espard, 
coming  to  look  for  her.  "What  has  Monsieur  Nathan  been 
saying?  He  left  us  with  quite  a  melodramatic  air.  You 
must  have  been  terribly  foolish — or  terribly  prudent." 

The  countess  took  Mme.  d'Espard's  arm  to  return  to  the 
drawing-room,  where,  however,  she  only  stayed  a  ifvf  instants. 

'*  Perhaps  she  is  going  to  her  first  appointment,"  said  Lady 
Dudley  to  the  marchioness. 

"I  shall  make  sure  as  to  that,"  replied  Mme.  d'Espard, 
who  left  at  once  to  follow  the  countess'  carriage. 

But  the  coupe  of  Mme.  de  Vandenesse  took  the  road  to  the 
Faubourg  St.  Honor6.  When  Mme.  d'Espard  entered  her 
house,  she  saw  the  countess  driving  along  the  faubourg  in  the 
direction  of  the  Rue  du  Rocher.  Marie  went  to  bed,  but  not 
to  sleep,  and  spent  the  night  in  reading  a  voyage  to  the  North 
Pole,  of  which  she  did  not  take  in  a  word. 

At  half-past  eight  next  morning  she  got  a  letter  from  Raoul 
and  opened  it  in  feverish  haste.  The  letter  began  with  the 
classic  phrase — 

"  My  loved  one,  when  this  paper  is  in  your  hands,  I  shall 
be  no  more." 

She  read  no  further,  but  crushing  the  paper  with  a  nervous 
motion,  rang  for  her  maid,  hastily  put  on  a  loose  gown,  and 
the  first  pair  of  shoes  that  came  to  hand,  wrapped  a  shawl 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  103 

round  her,  took  a  bonnet,  and  then  went  out,  instructing  her 
maid  to  tell  the  count  that  she  had  gone  to  her  sister,  Mme. 
du  Tillet. 

"  Where  did  you  leave  your  master?  "  she  asked  of  Raoul's 
servant. 

"At  the  newspaper  office." 

"Take  me  there,"  she  said. 

To  the  amazement  of  the  household,  she  left  the  house  on 
foot  before  nine  o'clock,  visibly  distraught.  Fortunately  for 
her,  the  maid  went  to  tell  the  count  that  her  mistress  had  just 
received  a  letter  from  Mme,  du  Tillet  which  had  upset  her 
very  much,  and  that  she  had  started  in  a  great  hurry  for  her 
sister's  house,  accompanied  by  the  servant  who  had  brought 
the  letter.  Vandenesse  waited  for  further  explanations  till 
his  wife's  return.  The  countess  got  a  cab  and  was  borne 
rapidly  to  the  office.  At  that  time  of  day  the  spacious  rooms 
occupied  by  the  paper,  in  an  old  house  in  the  Rue  Feydeau, 
were  deserted.  The  only  occupant  was  an  attendant,  whose 
astonishment  was  great  when  a  pretty  and  distracted  young 
woman  rushed  up  and  demanded  M.  Nathan. 

"I  expect  he  is  with  Mademoiselle  Florine,"  he  replied, 
taking  the  countess  for  some  jealous  rival,  bent  on  making  a 
scene. 

"  Where  does  he  work?"  she  asked. 

"In  a  small  room,  the  key  of  which  is  in  his  pocket." 

"  I  must  go  there." 

The  man  led  her  to  a  dark  room,  looking  out  on  a  back- 
yard, which  had  formerly  been  the  dressing-closet  attached 
to  a  large  bedroom.  This  closet  made  an  angle  with  the  bed- 
room, in  which  the  recess  for  the  bed  still  remained.  By 
opening  the  bedroom  window,  the  countess  was  able  to  see 
through  that  of  the  closet  what  was  happening  within. 

Nathan  lay  in  the  editorial  chair,  the  death-rattle  in  his 
throat. 

"  Break  open  that  door,  and  tell  no  one  !     I  will  pay  you 


104  A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

to  keep  silence,"  she  cried.  "  Can't  you  see  that  Monsieur 
Nathan  is  dying?" 

"Ah  !  "  was  the  only  reply. 

The  man  rushed  to  the  compositors'  room  to  fetch  an  iron 
chase  with  which  tc  force  the  door.  Raoul  was  killing  him- 
self, like  some  poor  work-girl,  with  the  fumes  from  a  pan  of 
charcoal.  He  had  just  finished  a  letter  to  Blondet,  in  which  he 
begged  him  to  attribute  his  death  to  a  fit  of  apoplexy.  The 
countess  was  just  in  time ;  she  had  Raoul  carried  into  the 
cab;  and  not  knowing  where  to  get  him  looked  after,  she 
went  to  a  hotel,  took  a  room  there,  and  sent  the  attendant  to 
fetch  a  doctor.  Raoul  in  a  few  hours  was  out  of  danger ;  but 
the  countess  did  not  leave  his  bedside  till  she  had  obtained  a  full 
confession.  When  the  prostrate  wrestler  with  fate  had  poured 
into  her  heart  the  terrible  elegy  of  his  sufferings,  she  returned 
home  a  prey  to  all  the  torturing  fancies  which  the  evening 
before  had  brooded  over  Nathan's  brow. 

"Leave  it  all  to  me,"  she  had  said,  hoping  to  win  him 
back  to  life. 

"Well,  what  is  wrong  with  your  sister?"  asked  Felix,  on 
seeing  his  wife  return.     "  You  look  like  a  ghost." 

"It  is  a  frightful  story,  but  I  must  keep  it  an  absolute 
secret,"  she  replied,  summoning  all  her  strength  to  put  on  an 
appearance  of  composure. 

In  order  to  be  alone  and  able  to  think  in  peace,  she  went 
to  the  opera  in  the  evening,  and  thence  had  gone  on  to 
unbosom  her  woes  to  Mme.  du  Tillet.  After  describing  the 
ghastly  scene  of  the  morning,  she  implored  her  sister's 
advice  and  aid.  Neither  of  them  had  an  idea  then  that  it 
was  du  Tillet  whose  hand  had  put  the  match  to  that  vulgar 
pan  of  charcoal,  the  sight  of  which  had  so  dismayed  Mme. 
de  Vandenesse. 

"  He  has  no  one  but  me  in  the  world,"  Marie  had  said  to 
her  sister,  "and  I  shall  not  fail  him." 

In  these  words  may  be  read  the  key  to  women's  hearts. 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  105 

They  become  heroic  in  the  assurance  of  being  all  in  all  to  a 
great  and  honorable  man. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  LOVER  SAVED  AND  LOST. 

Du  Tillet  had  heard  many  speculations  as  to  the  greater  or 
less  probability  of  his  sister-in-law's  love  for  Nathan ;  but  he 
was  one  of  those  who  deemed  the  liaison  incompatible  with 
that  existing  between  Raoul  and  Florine,  or  who  denied  it 
on  other  grounds.  In  his  view,  either  the  actress  made  the 
countess  impossible,  or  vice  versd.  But  when,  on  his  return 
that  evening,  he  found  his  sister-in-law,  whose  agitation  had 
been  plainly  written  on  her  face  at  the  opera,  he  surmised  that 
Raoul  had  confided  his  plight  to  the  countess.  This  meant 
that  the  countess  loved  him^  and  had  come  to  beg  from  Marie- 
Eugenie  the  amount  due  to  old  Gigonnet.  Mme.  du  Tillet, 
at  a  loss  how  to  explain  this  apparently  miraculous  insight, 
had  betrayed  so  much  confusion,  that  du  Tillet's  suspicion 
became  a  certainty.  The  banker  was  confident  that  he  could 
now  get  hold  of  the  clue  to  Nathan's  intrigues. 

No  one  knew  of  the  poor  wretch  who  lay  ill  in  a  private 
hotel  in  the  Rue  du  Mail,  under  the  name  of  the  attendant, 
Frangois  Quillet,  to  whom  the  countess  had  promised  five 
hundred  francs  as  the  reward  for  silence  on  the  events  of  the 
night  and  morning.  Quillet  in  consequence  had  taken  the 
precaution  of  telling  the  portress  that  Nathan  was  ill  from 
overwork.  It  was  no  surprise  to  du  Tillet  not  to  see  Nathan, 
for  it  was  only  natural  the  journalist  should  keep  in  hiding 
from  the  bailiffs.  When  the  detectives  came  to  make  inquiry, 
they  were  told  that  a  lady  had  been  there  that  morning  and 
carried  off  the  editor.  Two  days  elapsed  before  they  had  dis- 
covered the  number  of  the  cab,  questioned  the  driver,  and 
identified  and  explored  the  house  in  which  the  poor  insolvent 


106  A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

was  coming  back  to  life.     Thus  Marie's  wary  tactics  had  won 
for  Nathan  a  respite  of  three  days. 

Each  of  the  sisters  passed  an  agitated  night.  Such  a  tragedy 
casts  a  lurid  light,  like  the  glow  of  its  own  charcoal,  upon  the 
whole  substance  of  a  life,  throwing  out  its  shoals  and  reefs 
rather  than  the  heights  which  hitherto  had  struck  the  eye. 
Mme,  du  Tillet,  overcome  by  the  frightful  spectacle  of  a 
young  man  dying  in  his  editorial  chair,  and  writing  his  last 
words  with  Roman  stoicism,  could  think  of  nothing  but  how 
to  help  him,  how  to  restore  to  life  the  being  in  whom  her 
sister's  life  was  bound  up.  It  is  a  law  of  the  mind  to  look  at 
effects  before  analyzing  causes.  Eugenie  once  more  approved 
the  idea,  which  had  occurred  to  her,  of  applying  to  the 
Baronne  Delphine  de  Nucingen,  with  whom  she  had  a  din- 
ing acquaintance,  and  felt  that  it  promised  well.  With  the 
generosity  natural  to  those  whose  hearts  have  not  been  ground 
in  the  polished  mill  of  society,  Mme.  du  Tillet  determined  to 
take  everything  upon  herself. 

The  countess  again,  happy  in  having  saved  Nathan's  life, 
spent  the  night  in  scheming  how  to  lay  her  hands  on  forty 
thousand  francs.  In  such  a  crisis  women  are  beyond  praise. 
Under  the  impulse  of  feeling  they  light  upon  contrivances 
which  would  excite,  if  anything  could,  the  admiration  of 
thieves,  brokers,  and  usurers,  those  three  more  or  less  licensed 
classes  of  filchers  who  live  by  their  wits.  The  countess  would 
sell  her  diamonds  and  wear  false  ones.  Then  she  was  for 
asking  Vandenesse  to  give  her  the  money  for  her  sister,  whom 
she  had  already  used  as  a  pretext ;  but  she  was  too  high- 
minded  not  to  recoil  from  such  degrading  expedients,  which 
occurred  to  her  only  to  be  rejected.  To  give  Vandenesse's 
money  to  Nathan  !  At  the  very  thought  she  leaped  up  in 
bed,  horrified  at  her  own  baseness.  Wear  false  diamonds  ! 
her  husband  would  find  out  sooner  or  later.  She  would  go  and 
beg  the  money  from  the  Rothschilds,  who  had  so  much  ;  from 
the  Archbishop  of  Paris,  whose  duty  it  was  to  succor  the  poor. 


A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  107 

Thus  in  her  extremity  she  rushed  from  one  religion  to  another 
with  impartial  prayers.  She  lamented  being  in  opposition  ; 
in  old  days  she  could  have  borrowed  from  persons  near  to 
royalty.  She  thought  of  applying  to  her  father.  But  the 
ex-judge  had  a  horror  of  any  breach  of  the  law ;  his  children 
had  learned  from  experience  how  little  sympathy  he  had  with 
love  troubles  ;  he  refused  to  hear  of  them,  he  had  become  a 
misanthrope,  he  could  not  away  with  intrigue  of  any  descrip- 
tion. As  to  the  Comtesse  de  Granville,  she  had  gone  to  live 
in  retirement  on  one  of  her  estates  in  Normandy,  and,  icy  to 
the  last,  was  ending  her  days,  pinching  and  praying,  between 
money-bags  and  priests.  Even  were  there  time  for  Marie  to 
reach  Bayeux,  would  her  mother  give  her  so  large  a  sum  with- 
out knowing  for  what  it  was  wanted?  Imaginary  debts? 
Yes,  possibly  her  favorite  child  might  move  her  to  compas- 
sion. Well,  then,  as  a  last  resource,  to  Normandy  the 
countess  would  go.  The  Comte  de  Granville  would  not  re- 
fuse to  give  her  a  pretext  by  sending  false  news  of  his  wife's 
serious  illness. 

The  tragedy  which  had  given  her  such  a  shock  in  the  morn- 
ing, the  care  she  had  lavished  on  Nathan,  the  hours  passed  by 
his  bedside,  the  broken  tale,  the  agony  of  a  great  mind,  the 
career  of  genius  cut  short  by  a  vulgar  and  ignoble  detail,  all 
rushed  upon  her  memory  as  so  many  spurs  to  love.  Once 
more  she  lived  through  every  heart-throb,  and  felt  her  love 
stronger  in  the  hour  of  Nathan's  abasement  than  in  that  of  his 
success.  Would  she  have  kissed  that  forehead  crowned  with 
triumph  ?  Her  heart  answered :  No.  The  parting  words 
Nathan  had  spoken  to  her  in  Lady  Dudley's  boudoir  touched 
her  unspeakably  by  their  noble  dignity.  Was  ever  farewell 
more  saintly  ?  What  could  be  more  heroic  than  to  abandon 
happiness  because  it  would  have  made  her  misery?  The 
countess  had  longed  for  sensations  in  her  life,  truly  she  had  a 
wealth  of  them  now,  fearful,  agonizing,  and  yet  dear  to  her. 
Her  life  seemed  fuller  in  pain  than  it  had  ever  been  in  pleasure. 


108  A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

With  what  ecstasy  she  repeated  to  herself:  "I  have  saved 
him  already,  and  I  will  save  him  again  !  "  She  heard  his 
cry:  "  Only  the  miserable  know  the  power  of  love  !  "  when 
he  had  felt  his  Marie's  lips  upon  his  forehead. 

**  Are  you  ill  ?  "  asked  her  husband,  coming  into  her  room 
to  fetch  her  for  lunch, 

*'  I  cannot  get  over  the  tragedy  which  is  being  enacted  at 
my  sister's,"  she  said,  truthfully  enough. 

"  She  has  fallen  into  bad  hands  ;  it's  a  disgrace  to  the 
family  to  have  a  du  Tillet  in  it,  a  worthless  fellow  like  that. 
If  your  sister  got  into  any  trouble,  she  would  find  scant  pity 
with  him.'* 

''What  woman  could  endure  pity?"  said  the  countess, 
with  an  involuntary  shudder.  "  Your  ruthless  harshness  is  the 
truest  homage." 

"  There  speaks  your  noble  heart !  "  said  Felix,  kissing  his 
wife's  hand,  quite  touched  by  her  fine  scorn.  "A  woman 
who  feels  like  that  does  not  need  guarding." 

"Guarding?"  she  answered;  "that  again  is  another  dis- 
grace which  recoils  on  you." 

F^lix  smiled,  but  Marie  blushed.  When  a  woman  has 
committed  a  secret  fault,  she  cloaks  herself  in  an  exaggerated 
.womanly  pride,  nor  can  we  blame  the  fraud,  which  points  to 
a  reserve  of  dignity  or  even  high-mindedness. 

Marie  wrote  a  line  to  Nathan,  under  the  name  of  M.  Quil- 
let, to  tell  him  that  all  was  going  well  and  sent  it  by  a  com- 
missionaire to  the  Mail  Hotel.  At  the  opera  in  the  evening 
the  countess  reaped  the  benefit  of  her  falsehoods,  her  husband 
finding  it  quite  natural  that  she  should  leave  her  box  to  go 
and  see  her  sister.  F^lix  waited  to  give  her  his  arm  till  du 
Tillet  had  left  his  wife  alone.  What  were  not  Marie's  feel- 
ings as  she  crossed  the  passage,  entered  her  sister's  box,  and 
took  her  seat  there,  facing  with  calm  and  serene  countenance 
the  world  of  fashion,  amazed  to  see  the  sisters  together  ! 

"Tell  me,"  she  said. 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  109 

The  reply  was  written  on  Marie-Eugenie's  face,  the  radi- 
ance of  which  many  people  ascribed  to  gratified  vanity. 

'*  Yes,  he  will  be  saved,  darling,  but  for  three  months  only, 
during  which  time  we  will  put  our  heads  together  and  find 
some  more  substantial  help.  Madame  de  Nucingen  will  take 
four  bills,  each  for  ten  thousand  francs,  signed  by  any  one 
you  like,  so  as  not  to  compromise  you.  She  has  explained  to 
me  how  they  are  to  be  made  out ;  I  don't  understand  in  the 
least,  but  Monsieur  Nathan  will  get  them  ready  for  you. 
Only  it  occurred  to  me  that  perhaps  our  old  master,  Schmucke, 
might  be  useful  to  us  now ;  he  would  sign  them.  If,  in  addi- 
tion to  these  four  securities,  you  write  a  letter  guaranteeing 
their  payment  to  Madame  de  Nucingen,  she  will  hand  you 
the  money  to-morrow.  Do  the  whole  thing  yourself;  don't 
trust  to  anybody.  Schmucke,  you  see,  would,  I  think,  make 
no  difficulty  if  you  asked  him.  To  disarm  suspicion,  I  said 
that  you  wanted  to  do  a  kindness  to  our  old  music-master,  a 
German,  who  was  in  trouble.  In  this  way  I  was  able  to  beg 
for  the  strictest  secrecy." 

"  You  angel  of  cleverness  !  If  only  the  Baronne  de  Nucin- 
gen does  not  talk  till  after  she  has  given  the  money  !  "  said 
the  countess,  raising  her  eyes  as  though  in  prayer,  regardless 
of  her  surroundings. 

*'  Schmucke  lives  in  the  little  Rue  de  Nevers,  on  the  Quai 
Conti ;  don't  forget,  and  go  yourself." 

"Thanks,"  said  the  countess,  pressing  her  sister's  hand. 
**  Ah  !  I  would  give  ten  years  of  my  life " 

"  From  your  old  age " 

"To  put  an  end  to  all  these  horrors,"  said  the  countess, 
with  a  smile  at  the  interruption. 

The  crowd  at  this  moment,  spying  the  two  sisters  through 
their  opera-glasses,  might  suppose  them  to  be  talking  of  triviali- 
ties, as  they  heard  the  ring  of  their  frank  laughter.  But  any 
one  of  those  idlers,  who  frequent  the  opera  rather  to  study 
dress  and  faces  than  to  enjoy  themselves,  would  be  able  to 


110  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

detect  the  secret  of  the  countess  in  the  wave  of  feeling  which 
suddenly  blotted  all  cheerfulness  out  of  their  fair  faces. 
Raoul,  who  did  not  fear  the  bailiffs  at  night,  appeared,  pale 
and  ashy,  with  anxious  eye  and  gloomy  brow,  on  the  step  of 
the  staircase  where  he  regularly  took  his  stand.  He  looked 
for  the  countess  in  her  box,  and,  finding  it  empty,  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands,  leaning  his  elbows  on  the  balustrade. 

"  Can  she  be  here  !  "  he  thought. 

"Look  up,  unhappy  hero,"  whispered  Mme.  du  Tillet. 

As  for  Marie,  at  all  risks  she  fixed  on  him  that  steady  mag- 
netic gaze,  in  which  the  will  flashes  from  the  eye,  as  rays  of 
light  from  the  sun.  Such  a  look,  mesmerizers  say,  penetrates 
to  the  person  on  whom  it  is  directed,  and  certainly  Raoul 
seemed  as  though  struck  by  a  magic  wand.  Raising  his  head, 
his  eyes  met  those  of  the  sisters.  With  that  charming  femi- 
nine readiness  which  is  never  at  fault,  Mme.  de  Vandenesse 
seized  a  cross,  sparkling  on  her  neck,  and  directed  his  atten- 
tion to  it  by  a  swift  smile,  full  of  meaning.  The  brilliance  of 
the  gem  radiated  even  upon  Raoul's  forehead,  and  he  replied 
with  a  look  of  joy;  he  had  understood. 

"Is  it  nothing,  then,  Eugenie,"  said  the  countess,  "thus 
to  restore  life  to  the  dead  ?" 

"You  have  a  chance  yet  with  the  Royal  Humane  Society," 
replied  Eugenie,  with  a  smile. 

"  How  wretched  and  depressed  he  looked  when  he  came, 
and  how  happy  he  will  go  away  1  " 

At  this  moment  du  Tillet,  coming  up  to  Raoul  with  every 
mark  of  friendliness,  pressed  his  hand,  and  said — 

"  Well,  old  fellow,  how  are  you  ?  " 

"  As  well  as  a  man  is  likely  to  be  who  has  just  got  the  best 
possible  news  of  the  election.  I  shall  be  successful,"  replied 
Raoul,  radiant. 

"Delighted,"  said  du  Tillet.  "We  shall  want  money  for 
the  paper." 

"The  money  will  be  found,"  said  Raoul. 


A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE.  Ill 

"The  devil  is  with  these  women  !  "  exclaimed  du  Tillet, 
still  unconvinced  by  the  words  of  Raoul,  whom  he  had  nick- 
named Charnathan — carriage-gift. 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  said  Raoul. 

*'  My  sister-in-law  is  there  witli  ray  wife,  and  they  are  hatch- 
ing something  together.  You  seem  in  high  favor  with  the 
countess;  she  is  bowing  to  you  right  across  the  house." 

"Look,"  said  Mme.  du  Tillet  to  her  sister,  "they  told  us 
wrong.  See  how  my  husband  fawns  on  Monsieur  Nathan, 
and  it  is  he  who  they  declared  was  trying  to  get  him  put  in 
prison  !  " 

"And  men  call  us  slanderers!"  cried  the  countess.  "I 
will  give  him  a  warning." 

She  rose,  took  the  arm  of  Vandenesse,  who  was  waiting  in 
the  passage,  and  returned  jubilant  to  her  box ;  by-and-by  she 
left  the  opera,  ordered  her  carriage  for  the  next  morning  be- 
fore eight  o'clock,  and  found  herself  at  half-past  eight  on  the 
Quai  Conti,  having  called  at  the  Rue  du  Mail  on  her  way. 

The  carriage  could  not  enter  the  narrrow  Rue  de  Nevers; 
but,  as  Schmucke's  house  stood  at  the  corner  of  the  quay,  the 
countess  was  not  obliged  to  walk  to  it  through  the  mud.  She 
almost  leapt  from  the  step  of  the  carriage  on  to  the  dirty  and 
dilapidated  entrance  of  the  grimy  old  house,  which  was  held 
together  by  iron  clamps,  like  a  poor  man's  crockery,  and  over- 
hung the  street  in  quite  an  alarming  fashion. 

The  old  organist  lived  on  the  fourth  floor,  and  rejoiced  in 
a  beautiful  view  of  the  Seine,  from  the  Pont  Neuf  to  the  rising 
ground  of  Chaillot.  The  simple  fellow  was  so  taken  aback 
when  the  footman  announced  his  former  pupil,  that,  before  he 
could  recover  himself,  she  was  in  the  room.  Never  could  the 
countess  have  imagined  or  guessed  at  an  existence  such  as 
that  suddenly  laid  bare  to  her,  though  she  had  long  known 
Schmucke's  scorn  for  appearances  and  his  indifference  to 
worldly  things.  Who  could  have  believed  in  so  neglected  a 
life,  in  carelessness  carried  to  such  a  pitch  ?     Schmucke  was 


112  A    DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

a  musical  Diogenes  ;  he  felt  no  shame  for  the  hugger-mugger 
in  which  he  lived ;  indeed,  custom  had  made  him  insensible 
to  it. 

The  constant  use  of  a  fat,  friendly,  German  pipe  had  spread 
over  the  ceiling  and  the  flimsy  wall-paper — well  rubbed  by  the 
cat — a  faint  yellow  tint,  which  gave  a  pervading  impression  of 
the  golden  harvests  of  Ceres.  The  cat,  whose  long  ruffled 
silky  coat  made  a  garment  such  as  a  portress  might  have  en- 
vied, did  the  honors  of  the  house,  sedately  whiskered,  and  en- 
tirely at  her  ease.  From  the  top  of  a  first-rate  Vienna  piano, 
where  she  lay  couched  in  state,  she  cast  on  the  countess  as  she 
entered  the  gracious  yet  chilly  glance  with  which  any  woman, 
astonished  at  her  beauty,  might  have  greeted  her.  She  did 
not  stir,  except  to  wave  the  two  silvery  threads  of  her  upright 
mustache  and  to  fix  upon  Schmucke  two  golden  eyes.  The 
piano,  which  had  known  better  days,  and  was  cased  in  a  good 
wood,  painted  black  and  gold,  was  dirty,  discolored,  chipped, 
and  its  keys  were  worn  like  the  teeth  of  an  old  horse  and 
mellowed  by  the  deeper  tints  which  fell  from  the  pipe.  Little 
piles  of  ashes  on  the  ledge  proclaimed  that  the  night  before 
Schmucke  had  bestridden  the  old  instrument  to  some  witches' 
rendezvous.  The  brick  floor,  strewn  with  dried  mud,  torn 
paper,  tobacco-ashes,  and  odds  and  ends  that  defy  description, 
suggested  the  boards  of  a  lodging-house  floor,  when  they  have 
not  been  swept  for  a  week  and  heaps  of  litter,  a  cross  between 
the  contents  of  the  ash-pit  and  the  rag-bag,  await  the  servants' 
brooms.  A  more  practiced  eye  than  that  of  the  countess 
might  have  read  indications  of  Schmucke's  way  of  living  in 
the  chestnut  scraps,  parings  of  apple-peel,  and  shells  of  Easter 
eggs,  which  covered  broken  fragments  of  plates,  all  messed 
with  sauer  kraut.  This  German  detritus  formed  a  carpet  of 
dusty  filth  which  grated  under  the  feet  and  lost  itself  in  a 
mass  of  cinders,  dropping  with  slow  dignity  from  a  painted 
stone  fireplace,  where  a  lump  of  coal  lorded  it  over  two  half- 
burnt  logs  that  seemed   to  waste  away  before  it.      On  the 


A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  113 

mantel  was  a  pier-glass  with  figures  dancing  a  saraband  round 
it ;  on  one  side  the  glorious  pipe  hung  on  a  nail,  on  the  other 
stood  a  china  pot  in  which  the  professor  kept  his  tobacco. 
Two  armchairs,  casually  picked  up,  together  with  a  thin, 
flattened  couch,  a  worm-eaten  bureau  with  the  marble  top 
gone,  and  a  maimed  table,  on  which  lay  the  remains  of  a 
frugal  breakfast,  made  up  the  furniture,  unpretending  as  that 
of  a  Mohican  wigwam.  A  shaving-glass  hanging  from  the 
catch  of  a  curtainless  window,  and  surmounted  by  a  rag, 
striped  by  razor  scrapings,  were  evidence  of  the  sole  sacrifices 
paid  by  Schmucke  to  the  graces  and  to  society. 

The  cat,  petted  as  a  feeble  and  dependent  being,  was  the 
best  off.  It  rejoiced  in  an  old  armchair  cushion,  beside  which 
stood  a  white  china  cup  and  dish.  But  what  no  pen  can  de- 
scribe is  the  state  to  which  Schmucke,  the  cat,  and  the  pipe — 
trinity  of  living  beings — had  reduced  the  furniture.  The  pipe 
had  scorched  the  table  in  places.  The  cat  and  Schmucke's  head 
had  greased  the  green  Utrecht  velvet  of  the  two  armchairs  till 
it  was  worn  quite  smooth.  But  for  the  cat's  magnificent  tail, 
which  did  a  part  of  the  cleaning,  the  dust  would  have  lain  for 
ever  undisturbed  on  the  uncovered  parts  of  the  chest  of  drawers 
and  piano.  In  a  corner  lay  the  army  of  slippers,  to  which  only 
a  Homeric  catalogue  could  do  justice.  The  tops  of  the  bureau 
and  of  the  piano  were  blocked  with  broken-backed,  loose- 
paged  music-books,  the  boards  showing  all  the  pages  peeping 
through,  with  corners  white  and  dogs-eared.  Along  the  walls 
the  addresses  of  pupils  were  glued  with  little  wafers.  The 
wafers  without  papers  showed  the  number  of  obsolete  ad- 
dresses. On  the  wall-paper  chalk  additions  might  be  read. 
The  bureau  was  adorned  with  last  night's  beer  tankards,  which 
stood  out  quite  fresh  and  bright  in  the  midst  of  all  this  stuffi- 
ness and  decay.  Hygiene  was  represented  by  a  water-jug 
crowned  with  a  towel  and  a  bit  of  common  soap,  white 
marbled  with  blue,  which  left  its  damp-mark  here  and  there 
on  the  red  wood.  Two  hats,  equally  ancient,  hung  on  pegs, 
8 


114  A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

from  which  was  also  suspended  the  familiar  blue  ulster  with 
its  three  capes,  without  which  the  countess  would  hardly  have 
known  Schmucke.  Beneath  the  window  stood  three  pots  of 
flowers,  German  flowers  presumably,  and  close  by  a  holly 
walking-stick. 

Though  the  countess  was  disagreeably  affected  both  in  sight 
and  smell,  yet  Schmucke's  eyes  and  smile  transformed  the 
sordid  scene  with  heavenly  rays,  that  gave  a  glory  to  the 
dingy  tones  and  animation  to  the  chaos.  The  soul  of  this 
man,  who  seemed  to  belong  to  another  world  and  revealed  so 
many  of  its  mysteries,  radiated  light  like  the  sun.  His  frank 
and  hearty  laugh  at  the  sight  of  one  of  his  Saint  Cecilias 
diff"used  the  brightness  of  youth,  mirth,  and  innocence.  He 
poured  out  treasures  of  that  which  mankind  holds  dearest,  and 
made  a  cloak  of  them  to  veil  his  poverty.  The  most  purse- 
proud  upstart  would  perhaps  have  blushed  to  think  twice  of 
the  surroundings  within  which  moved  this  noble  apostle  of  the 
religion  of  music. 

"Eh,  py  vot  tchance  came  you  here,  tear  Montame  la 
Gondesse?  "  he  said.  "  Must  I  den  zing  de  zong  ov  Zimeon 
at  mein  asche?" 

This  idea  started  him  on  another  peal  of  ringing  laughter. 

"Is  it  dat  I  haf  a  conqvest  made?"  he  went  on,  with  a 
look  of  cunning. 

Then,  laughing  like  a  child  again — 

"You  com  for  de  musike,  not  for  a  boor  man,  I  know," 
he  said  sadly;  "but  com  for  vat  you  vill,  you  know  dat  all 
is  here  for  you,  pody,  zoul,  ant  coots  !  " 

He  took  the  hand  of  the  countess,  kissed  it,  and  dropped 
a  tear,  for  with  this  good  man  every  day  was  the  morrow  of  a 
kindness  received.  His  joy  had  for  a  moment  deprived  him 
of  memory,  only  to  bring  it  back  in  greater  force.  He  seized 
on  the  chalk,  leaped  on  the  armchair  in  front  of  the  piano, 
and  then,  with  the  alacrity  of  a  young  man,  wrote  on  the  wall 
in  large  letters,  ''February  17th,   1835."     This  movement, 


A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  115 

SO  pretty  and  artless,  came  with  such  an  outburst  of  gratitude 
that  the  countess  was  quite  moved. 

"  My  sister  is  coming  too,"  she  said. 

"  De  oder  alzo  !  Ven?  Ven?  May  it  pe  bevor  I  tie  !  " 
he  replied. 

"  She  will  come  to  thank  you  for  a  great  favor  which  I  am 
here  now  to  ask  from  you  on  her  behalf." 

**Qvick!  qvick  !  qvick  !  qvick  !  "  cried  Schmucke,  "  vot 
is  dis  dat  I  mosd  to  ?     Mosd  I  to  de  teufel  go  ?  " 

**I  only  want  you  to  write,  'I  promise  to  pay  the  sum  of 
ten  thousand  francs'  on  each  of  these  papers,"  she  said, 
drawing  from  her  muflf  the  four  bills,  which  Nathan  had  pre- 
pared in  accordance  with  the  formula  prescribed. 

"  Ach  !  dat  vill  pe  soon  tone,"  replied  the  German  with  a 
lamblike  docility.  "  Only,  I  know  not  vere  are  mein  bens 
and  baber.  Get  you  away,  Meinherr  Mirr,^^  he  cried  to  the 
cat,  who  stared  at  him  frigidly.  **  Dis  is  mein  gat,"  he  said, 
pointing  it  out  to  the  countess.  "  Dis  is  de  boor  peast  vich 
lifs  mit  de  boor  Schmucke.     He  is  peautivul,  dot  zo?  " 

The  countess  agreed. 

"You  vould  vish  him?" 

**  What  an  idea  !     Take  away  your  friend  !  " 

The  cat,  who  was  hiding  the  ink-bottle,  divined  what 
Schmucke  wanted  and  jumped  on  to  the  bed. 

**He  is  naughty  ass  ein  monkey!  "  he  went  on,  pointing 
to  it  on  the  bed.  •*  I  name  him  Mirr,  for  to  glorivy  our 
Great  Hoffmann  at  Berlin,  dat  I  haf  mosh  known." 

The  good  man  signed  with  the  innocence  of  a  child  doing 
its  mother's  bidding,  utterly  ignorant  what  it  is  about,  but 
sure  that  all  will  be  right.  He  was  far  more  taken  up  with 
presenting  the  cat  to  the  countess  than  with  the  papers,  which, 
by  the  laws  relating  to  foreigners,  might  have  deprived  him 
for  ever  of  liberty. 

**  You  make  me  zure  dat  dese  leetl  stambed  babers." 

"Don't  have  the  least  uneasiness,"  said  the  countess. 


116  A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

"  I  haf  not  oneasiness,"  he  replied  hastily.  "  I  ask  if  dese 
leetl  stambed  babers  vil  plees  der  Montame  ti  Dilet?  " 

**  Oh  yes,"  she  said  ;  "  you  will  be  helping  her  as  a  father 
might." 

"  I  am  rer  habby  do  pe  coot  do  her  for  zomting.  Com, 
do  mein  music  !  "  he  said,  leaving  the  papers  on  the  table 
and  springing  to  the  piano. 

In  a  moment  the  hands  of  this  unworldly  being  were  flying 
over  the  well-worn  keys,  in  a  moment  his  glance  pierced  the 
roof  to  heaven,  in  a  moment  the  sweetest  of  songs  blossomed 
in  the  air  and  penetrated  the  soul.  But  only  while  the  ink 
was  drying  could  this  simple-minded  interpreter  of  heavenly 
things  be  allowed  to  draw  forth  eloquence  from  wood  and 
string,  like  Raphael's  St.  Cecilia  playing  to  the  listening 
hosts  of  heaven.  The  countess  then  slipped  the  bills  into  her 
muff  again,  and  recalled  the  radiant  master  from  the  ethereal 
spheres  in  which  he  soared  by  a  touch  on  the  shoulder. 

"My  good  Schmucke,"  she  cried. 

**  Zo  zoon,"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  submissiveness  painful  to 
see.     *•  Vy  den  are  you  com  ? ' ' 

He  did  not  complain,  he  stood  like  a  faithful  dog,  waiting . 
for  a  word  from  the  countess. 

"  My  good  Schmucke,"  she  again  began,  "  this  is  a  question 
of  life  and  death,  minutes  now  may  be  the  price  of  blood  and 
tears." 

"Efer  de  zame !  "  he  said.  "Go  den!  try  de  tears  ov 
oders !  Know  dat  de  boor  Schmucke  counts  your  fisit  for 
more  dan  your  pounty." 

"We  shall  meet  again,"  she  said.  "You  must  come  and 
play  to  me  and  dine  with  me  every  Sunday,  or  else  we  shall 
quarrel.     I  shall  expect  you  next  Sunday." 

"Truly?" 

"  Indeed,  I  hope  you  will  come ;  and  my  sister,  I  am  sure, 
will  fix  a  day  for  you  also." 

"Mein  habbiness  vill  be  den  gomplete,"  he  said,  "vor  I 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  117 

tid  not  zee  you  put  at  de  Champes-Hailys^es,  ven  you  passed 
in  de  carrisch,  fery  rarely." 

The  thought  of  this  dried  the  tears  which  had  gathered  in 
the  old  man's  eyes,  and  he  offered  his  arm  to  his  fair  pupil, 
who  could  feel  the  wild  beats  of  his  heart. 

"  You  thought  of  us  then  sometimes?"  she  said. 

"  Efery  time  ven  I  mein  pret  eat!"  he  replied.  "Virst 
ass  mein  pountivul  laties,  ant  den  ass  de  two  virst  young  girls 
vurty  of  luf  dat  I  haf  zeen." 

The  countess  dared  say  no  more !  There  was  a  marvelous 
and  respectful  solemnity  in  these  words,  as  though  they  formed 
part  of  some  religious  service,  breathing  fidelity.  That  smoky 
room,  that  den  of  refuse,  became  a  temple  for  two  goddesses. 
Devotion  there  waxed  stronger,  all  unknown  to  its  objects. 

"  Here,  then,  we  are  loved,  truly  loved,"  she  thought. 

The  countess  shared  the  emotion  with  which  old  Schmucke 
saw  her  get  into  her  carriage,  as  she  blew  from  the  ends  of 
her  fingers  one  of  those  airy  kisses,  which  are  a  woman's  dis- 
tant greeting.  At  this  sight,  Schmucke  stood  transfixed  long 
after  the  carriage  had  disappeared. 

A  few  minutes  later,  the  countess  entered  the  courtyard  of 
Mme.  de  Nucingen's  house.  The  baroness  was  not  yet  up; 
but,  in  order  not  to  keep  a  lady  of  position  waiting,  she  flung 
a  shawl  and  dressing-gown  around  her. 

"  I  come  on  the  business  of  others,  and  promptitude  is  then 
a  virtue,"  said  the  countess.  "This  must  be  my  excuse  for 
disturbing  you  so  early." 

"Not  at  all!  I  am  only  too  happy,"  said  the  banker's 
wife,  taking  the  four  papers  and  the  guarantee  of  the  countess. 

She  rang  for  her  maid. 

"  Theresa,  tell  the  cashier  to  bring  me  up  himself,  at  once, 
forty  thousand  francs." 

Then  she  sealed  the  letter  of  Mme.  de  Vandenesse,  and 
locked  it  into  a  secret  drawer  of  her  table. 

"  What  a  pretty  room  you  have  !  "  said  the  countess. 


118  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

"  Monsieur  de  Nucingen  is  going  to  deprive  me  o£Jt ;  he 
is  getting  a  new  house  built." 

"You  will  no  doubt  give  this  one  to  your  daughter.  I 
hear  that  she  is  engaged  to  Monsieur  de  Rastignac." 

The  cashier  appeared  as  Mme.  de  Nucingen  was  on  the 
point  of  replying.  She  took  the  notes  and  handed  him  the 
four  bills  of  exchange. 

"That  balances,"  said  the  baroness  to  the  cashier. 

"  Egzebd  for  de  disgound,"  said  the  cashier.  "Dis 
Schmucke  iss  ein  musician  vrom  Ansbach,"  he  added,  with  a 
glance  at  the  signature,  which  sent  a  shiver  through  the 
countess. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  am  transacting  business?"  said  Mme. 
de  Nucingen,  with  a  haughty  glance  of  rebuke  at  the  cashier. 
"This  is  my  affair." 

In  vain  did  the  cashier  cast  sly  glances  now  at  the  countess, 
now  at  the  baroness  ;  not  a  line  of  their  faces  moved. 

"You  can  leave  us  now.  Be  so  good  as  remain  a  minute 
or  two,  so  that  you  may  not  seem  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  this  matter,"  said  the  baroness  to  Mme.  de  Vandenesse. 

"  I  must  beg  of  you  to  add  to  your  other  kind  services  that 
of  keeping  my  secret,"  said  the  countess. 

"  In  a  matter  of  charity  that  is  of  course,"  replied  the 
baroness,  with  a  smile.  "  I  shall  have  your  carriage  sent  to 
the  end  of  the  garden  ;  it  will  start  without  you ;  then  we 
shall  cross  the  garden  together,  no  one  will  see  you  leave  this. 
The  whole  thing  will  remain  a  mystery." 

"  You  must  have  known  suffering  to  have  learned  so  much 
thought  for  others,"  said  the  countess. 

"  I  don't  know  about  thoughtfulness,  but  I  have  suffered 
a  great  deal,"  said  the  baroness;  "you,  I  trust,  have  paid 
less  dearly  for  yours." 

The  orders  given,  the  baroness  took  her  fur  shoes  and 
cloak  and  led  the  countess  to  the  side-door  of  the  garden. 

When  a  man  is  plotting  against  any  one,  as  du  Tillet  did 


A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE.  119 

against  Nathan,  he  makes  no  confidant.  Nucingen  had  some 
notion  of  what  was  going  on,  but  his  wife  remained  entirely 
outside  this  Machiavellian  scheming.  She  knew,  however, 
that  Raoul  was  in  difficulties,  and  was  not  deceived  therefore 
by  the  sisters  ;  she  suspected  shrewdly  into  whose  hands  the 
money  would  pass,  and  it  gave  her  real  pleasure  to  help  the 
countess.  Entanglements  of  the  kind  always  roused  her 
deepest  sympathy. 

Rastignac,  who  was  playing  the  detective  on  the  intrigues 
of  the  two  bankers,  came  to  lunch  with  Mme.  de  Nucingen. 
Delphine  and  Rastignac  had  no  secrets  from  each  other,  and 
she  told  him  of  her  interview  with  the  countess.  Rastignac, 
unable  to  imagine  how  the  baroness  had  become  mixed  up  in 
this  affair,  which  in  his  eyes  was  merely  incidental,  one  weapon 
amongst  many,  explained  to  her  that  she  had  this  morning  in 
all  probability  demolished  the  electoral  hopes  of  du  Tillet  and 
rendered  abortive  the  foul  play  and  sacrifices  of  a  whole  year. 
He  then  went  on  to  enlighten  her  as  to  the  whole  position, 
urging  her  to  keep  silence  about  her  own  mistake. 

"  If  only,"  she  said,  "  the  cashier  does  not  speak  of  it  to 
Nucingen." 

Du  Tillet  was  at  lunch  when,  a  few  minutes  after  twelve, 
M.  Gigonnet  was  announced. 

"  Show  him  in,"  said  the  banker,  regardless  of  his  wife's 
presence.  *'Well,  old  Shylock,  is  our  man  under  lock  and 
key?" 

"No." 

"  No  !     Didn't  I  tell  you  Rue  du  Mail,  at  the  hotel  ?  " 

"  He  has  paid,"  said  Gigonnet,  drawing  from  his  pocket- 
book  forty  bank-notes. 

A  look  of  despair  passed  over  du  Tillet's  face. 

"You  should  never  look  askance  at  good  money,"  said  the 
impassive  crony  of  du  Tillet  ;  "  it's  unlucky." 

"Where  did   you   get  this  money,  madame  ? "    said   the 


120  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

banker,  with  a  scowl  at  his  wife,  which  made  her  scarlet  to 
the  roots  of  her  hair, 

"  I  have  no  idea  what  you  mean,"  she  said. 

**  I  shall  get  to  the  bottom  of  this,"  he  replied,  starting  up 
in  a  fury.      "You  have  upset  my  most-cherished  plans." 

"You  will  upset  your  lunch,"  said  Gigonnet,  laying  hold 
of  the  tablecloth,  which  had  caught  in  the  skirts  of  du 
Tillet's  dressing-gown. 

Mme.  du  Tillet  rose  with  frigid  dignity,  for  his  words  had 
terrified  her.      She  rang,  and  a  footman  came. 

"  My  horses>"  she  said.  "  And  send  Virginie  ;  I  wish  to 
dress." 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  said  du  Tillet. 

**  Men  who  have  any  manners  do  not  question  their  wives. 
You  profess  to  be  a  gentleman." 

**  You  have  not  been  yourself  for  the  last  two  days,  since 
your  flippant  sister  has  twice  been  to  see  you." 

"You  ordered  me  to  be  flippant,"  she  said.  "  I  am  prac- 
ticing on  you," 

Gigonnet,  who  took  no  interest  in  family  broils,  saluted 
Mme.  du  Tillet  and  went  out. 

Du  Tillet  looked  fixedly  at  his  wife,  whose  eyes  met  his 
without  wavering. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this?  "  he  said. 

"  It  means  that  I  am  no  longer  a  child  to  be  cowed  by 
you,"  she  replied.  "  I  am,  and  shall  remain  all  my  life,  a 
faithful,  attentive  wife  to  you ;  you  may  be  master  if  you  like, 
but  tyrant,  no." 

Du  Tillet  left  her,  and  Marie-Eugenie  retired  to  her  room, 
quite  unnerved  by  such  an  effort. 

"But  for  my  sister's  danger,"  she  said  to  herself,  "I 
should  never  have  ventured  to  beard  him  thus ;  as  the  proverb 
says,  *  It's  an  ill  wind  that  blows  no  good.'  " 

During  the  night  Mme.  du  Tillet  again  passed  in  review 
her  sister's  confidences.     Raoul's  safety  being  assured,  her 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  121 

reason  was  no  longer  overpowered  by  the  thought  of  this 
imminent  danger.  She  recalled  the  alarming  energy  with 
which  the  countess  had  spoken  of  flying  with  Nathan,  in 
order  to  console  him  in  his  calamity  if  she  could  not  avert  it. 
She  foresaw  how  this  man,  in  the  violence  of  his  gratitude 
and  love,  might  persuade  her  sister  to  do  what  to  the  well- 
balanced  Eugenie  seemed  an  act  of  madness.  There  had 
been  instances  lately  in  the  best  society  of  such  elopements, 
which  pay  the  price  of  a  doubtful  pleasure  in  remorse  and  the 
social  discredit  arising  out  of  a  false  position,  and  Eugenie 
recalled  to  mind  their  disastrous  results.  Du  Tillet's  words 
had  put  the  last  touch  to  her  panic ;  she  dreaded  discovery ; 
she  saw  the  signature  of  the  Comtesse  de  Vandenesse  in  the 
archives  of  the  Nucingen  firm  and  she  resolved  to  implore  her 
sister  to  confess  everything  to  Felix. 

Mme.  du  Tillet  did  not  find  the  countess  next  morning ; 
but  Felix  was  at  home.  A  voice  within  called  on  Eugenie 
to  save  her  sister.  To-morrow  even  might  be  too  late.  It 
was  a  heavy  responsibility,  but  she  decided  to  tell  everything 
to  the  count.  Surely  he  would  be  lenient,  since  his  honor 
was  still  safe  and  the  countess  was  not  so  much  depraved  as 
misguided.  Eugenie  hesitated  to  commit  what  seemed  like 
an  act  of  cowardice  and  treachery  by  divulging  secrets  which 
society,  at  one  in  this,  universally  respects.  But  then  came 
the  thought  of  her  sister's  future,  the  dread  of  seeing  her 
some  day  deserted,  ruined  by  Nathan,  poor,  ill,  unhappy, 
despairing ;  she  hesitated  no  longer,  and  asked  to  see  the 
count.  Felix,  greatly  surprised  by  this  visit,  had  a  long  con- 
versation with  his  sister-in-law,  in  the  course  of  which  he 
showed  such  calm  and  self-mastery  that  Eugenie  trembled  at 
the  desperate  steps  he  might  be  resolving. 

"Don't  be  troubled,"  said  Vandenesse;  "I  shall  act  so 
that  the  day  will  come  when  your  sister  will  bless  you.  How- 
ever great  your  repugnance  to  keeping  from  her  the  fact  that 
you  have  spoken  to  me,  I  must  ask  you  to  give  me  a  few  days' 


122  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

grace.  I  require  this  in  order  to  see  my  way  through  certain 
mysteries,  of  which  you  know  nothing,  and  above  all  to  take 
my  measures  with  prudence.  Possibly  I  may  find  out  every- 
thing at  once  !  I  am  the  only  one  to  blame,  dear  sister.  All 
lovers  play  their  own  game,  but  all  women  are  not  fortunate 
enough  to  see  life  as  it  really  is." 

CHAPTER  IX. 
A  husband's  triumph. 

Mme.  du  Tillet  left  Vandenesse's  house  somewhat  com- 
forted. Felix,  on  his  part,  went  at  once  to  draw  forty  thou- 
sand francs  from  the  Bank  of  France,  and  then  hastened  to 
Mme.  de  Nucingen.  He  found  her  at  home,  thanked  her  for 
the  confidence  she  had  shown  in  his  wife,  and  returned  her 
the  money.  He  gave,  as  the  reason  for  this  mysterious  loan, 
an  excessive  almsgiving,  on  which  he  had  wished  to  impose 
some  limit. 

"  Do  not  trouble  to  explain,  since  Madame  de  Vandenesse 
has  told  you  about  it,"  said  the  Baronne  de  Nucingen. 

"She  knows  all,"  thought  Vandenesse. 

The  baroness  handed  him  his  wife's  guarantee  and  sent  for 
the  four  bills.  Vandenesse,  while  this  was  going  on,  scanned 
the  baroness  with  the  statesman's  piercing  eye ;  she  flinched  a 
little,  and  he  judged  the  time  had  come  for  negotiating. 

"  We  live,  madame,"  he  said,  "  at  a  period  when  nothing  is 
stable.  Thrones  rise  and  disappear  in  France  with  a  discon- 
certing rapidity.  Fifteen  years  may  see  the  end  of  a  great 
empire,  of  a  monarchy,  and  also  of  a  revolution.  No  one  can 
take  upon  himself  to  answer  for  the  future.  You  know  my 
devotion  to  the  legitimist  party.  Such  words  in  my  mouth 
cannot  surprise  you.  Imagine  a  catastrophe  :  would  it  not 
be  a  satisfaction  to  you  to  have  a  friend  on  the  winning 
side?" 


A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE.  123 

"Undoubtedly,"  she  replied  with  a  smile. 

"  Supposing  such  a  case  to  occur,  will  you  have  in  me,  un- 
known to  the  world,  a  grateful  friend,  ready  to  secure  for 
Monsieur  de  Nucingen  under  these  circumstances  the  peerage 
to  which  he  aspires  ?  " 

"What  do  you  ask  from  me  ?  "  she  said. 

'*  Not  much.  Only  the  facts  in  your  possession  about 
Monsieur  Nathan." 

The  baroness  repeated  her  conversation  of  the  morning  with 
Rastignac,  and  said  to  the  ex-peer  of  France,  as  she  handed 
him  the  four  bills  which  the  cashier  brought  her 

"  Don't  forget  your  promise." 

So  far  was  Vandenesse  from  forgetting  this  magical  promise, 
that  he  dangled  it  before  the  eyes  of  the  Baron  de  Rastignac 
in  order  to  extract  from  him  further  information. 

On  leaving  the  baron,  he  dictated  to  a  scrivener  the  follow- 
ing letter  addressed  to  Florine  : 

"  If  Mile.  Florine  wishes  to  know  what  part  is  awaiting 
her,  will  she  be  so  good  as  come  to  the  approaching  masked 
ball,  and  bring  M.  Nathan  as  her  escort?" 

This  letter  posted,  he  went  next  to  his  man  of  business,  a 
very  astute  fellow,  full  of  resource,  and  withal  honest. 

Him  he  begged  to  personate  a  friend,  to  whom  the  visit  of 
Mme.  de  Vandenesse  should  have  been  confided  by  Schmucke, 
aroused  to  a  tardy  suspicion  by  the  fourfold  repetition  of  the 
words,  "I  promise  to  pay  ten  thousand  francs,"  and  who 
should  have  come  to  request  from  M.  Nathan  a  bill  for  forty 
thousand  francs  in  exchange.  It  was  a  risky  game.  Nathan 
might  already  have  learned  how  the  thing  had  been  arranged, 
but  something  had  to  be  dared  for  so  great  a  prize.  In  her 
agitation,  Marie  might  easily  have  forgotten  to  ask  her  beloved 
Raoul  for  an  acknowledgment  for  Schmucke.  The  man  of 
business  went  at  once  to  Nathan's  office,  and  returned  triumph- 


124  A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

ant  to  the  count  by  five  o'clock  with  the  bill  for  forty  thousand 
francs.  The  very  first  words  exchanged  with  Nathan  had 
enabled  him  to  pass  for  an  emissary  from  the  countess. 

This  success  obliged  Felix  to  take  steps  for  preventing  a 
meeting  between  Raoul  and  his  wife  before  the  masked  ball, 
whither  he  intended  to  escort  her,  in  order  that  she  might 
discover  for  herself  the  relation  in  which  Nathan  stood  to 
Florine.  He  knew  the  jealous  pride  of  the  countess,  and  was 
anxious  to  bring  her  to  renounce  the  love  affair  of  her  own 
will,  so  that  she  might  be  spared  from  humiliation  before  him- 
self He  also  hoped  to  show  her  before  it  was  too  late  her 
letters  to  Nathan  sold  by  Florine,  from  whom  he  reckoned  on 
buying  them  back.  This  prudent  plan,  so  swiftly  conceived 
and  in  part  executed,  was  destined  to  fail  through  one  of  those 
chances  to  which  the  affairs  of  mortals  are  subject.  After 
dinner  Felix  turned  the  conversation  on  the  masked  ball,  re- 
marking that  Marie  had  never  been  to  one,  and  proposed  to 
take  her  there  the  following  day  by  way  of  diversion. 

**I  will  find  some  one  for  you  to  mystify." 

"Ah  !  I  should  like  that  immensely." 

"To  make  it  really  amusing,  a  woman  ought  to  get  hold 
of  a  foeman  worthy  of  her  steel,  some  celebrity  or  wit,  and 
make  mincemeat  of  him.  What  do  you  say  to  Nathan  ?  A 
man  who  knows  Florine  could  put  me  up  to  a  few  little  things 
that  would  drive  him  wild." 

"Florine,"  said  the  countess,  "the  actress?" 

Marie  had  already  heard  this  name  from  the  lips  of  Quillet, 
the  office  attendant ;  a  thought  flashed  through  her  like  light- 
ning. 

"Well,  yes,  his  mistress,"  replied  the  count.  "What  is 
there  surprising  in  that  ? ' ' 

"  I  should  have  thought  Monsieur  Nathan  was  too  busy  for 
such  things.     How  can  literary  men  find  time  for  love?" 

"  I  say  nothing  about  love,  my  dear,  but  they  have  to  lodge 
somewhere,  like  other  people ;  and  when  they  have  no  home 


A   DAUGHTER   OF  EVE.  125 

and  the  bloodhounds  of  the  law  are  after  them,  they  lodge 
with  their  mistresses,  which  may  seem  a  little  strong  to  you, 
but  which  is  infinitely  preferable  to  lodging  in  prison." 

The  fire  was  less  red  than  the  cheeks  of  the  countess. 

"  Would  you  like  him  for  your  victim?  You  could  easily 
give  him  a  fright,"  the  count  went  on,  paying  no  a'ttention  to 
his  wife's  looks.  "I  can  give  you  proofs  by  which  you  can 
show  him  that  he  has  been  a  mere  child  in  the  hands  of  your 
brother-in-law  du  Tillet.  The  wretch  wanted  to  clap  him  in 
prison  in  order  to  disqualify  him  for  opposing  his  candidature 
in  Nucingen's  constituency.  I  have  learned  from  a  friend  of 
Florine's  the  amount  produced  by  the  sale  of  her  furniture, 
the  whole  of  which  she  gave  to  Nathan  for  starting  his  paper, 
and  I  know  what  portion  was  sent  to  him  of  the  harvest  which 
she  reaped  this  year  in  the  provinces  and  Belgium ;  money 
which,  in  the  long  run,  all  goes  into  the  pockets  of  du  Tillet, 
Nucingen,  and  Massol.  These  three  have  sold  the  paper  in 
advance  to  the  Government,  so  confident  are  they  of  dispos- 
sessing the  great  man." 

"  Monsieur  Nathan  would  never  take  money  from  an 
actress." 

"You  don't  know  these  people,  my  dear,"  said  the  count; 
"  he  won't  deny  the  fact." 

"  I  shall  certainly  go  to  the  ball,"  said  the  countess. 

"You  will  have  some  fun,"  replied  Vandenesse.  "Armed 
with  such  weapons,  you  will  read  a  sharp  lesson  to  Nathan's 
vanity,  and  it  will  be  a  kindness  to  him.  You  will  watch  the 
ebb  and  flow  of  his  rage,  and  his  writhings  under  your  sting- 
ing epigrams.  Your  badinage  will  be  quite  enough  to  show  a 
clever  man  like  him  the  danger  in  which  he  stands,  and  you 
will  have  the  satisfaction  of  getting  a  good  trouncing  for  the 

Juste  milieu^   team  within  their   own  stables You  are 

not  listening,  my  child." 

"Yes,  indeed,  I  am  only  too  much  interested,"  she  an- 
*  Right  Centre. 


126  A   DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

swered.  "I  will  tell  you  later  why  I  am  so  anxious  to  be 
certain  about  all  this." 

"Certain?"  replied  Vandenesse.  "If  you  keep  on  your 
mask,  I  will  take  you  to  supper  with  Florine  and  Nathan. 
It  will  be  sport  for  a  great  lady  like  you  to  take  in  an  actress 
after  having  kept  a  famous  man  on  the  stretch,  manoeuvring 
round  his  most  precious  secrets ;  you  can  harness  them  both 
to  the  same  mystification.  I  shall  put  myself  on  the  track  of 
Nathan's  infidelities.  If  I  can  lay  hold  of  the  details  of  any 
recent  affair,  you  will  be  able  to  indulge  yourself  in  the 
spectacle  of  a  courtesan's  rage,  which  is  worth  seeing.  The 
fury  of  Florine  will  seethe  like  an  Alpine  torrent.  She  adores 
Nathan ;  he  is  everything  to  her,  precious  as  the  marrow  of 
her  bones,  dear  as  her  cubs  to  a  lioness.  I  remember  in  my 
youth  having  seen  a  celebrated  actress,  whose  writing  was 
like  a  kitchen-maid's,  come  to  demand  back  her  letters  from 
one  of  my  friends.     I  have  never  seen  anything  like  it  since; 

that  quiet  fury,  that  impudent  dignity,  that  barbaric  pose 

Are  you  ill,  Marie  ?  ' ' 

"  No  !  only  the  fire  is  hot." 

The  countess  went  to  fling  herself  down  on  a  sofa.  All  at 
once  an  incalculable  impulse,  inspired  by  the  consuming  ache 
of  jealousy,  drove  her  to  her  feet.  Trembling  in  every  limb, 
she  crossed  her  arms,  and  advanced  slowly  toward  her 
husband. 

"  How  much  do  you  know?"  she  asked.  "  It  is  not  like 
you  to  torture  me.  Even  were  I  guilty,  you  would  give  me 
an  easy  death." 

"  What  should  I  know,  Marie  ?  " 

"About  Nathan?" 

"You  believe  you  love  him,"  he  replied,  "but  you  love 
only  a  phantom  made  of  words." 

"  Then  you  do  know ?  " 

"  Everything,"  he  said. 

The  word  fell  like  a  blow  on  Marie's  head. 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  127 

"If  you  wish,"  he  continued,  "it  shall  be  as  though  I 
knew  nothing.  My  child,  you  have  fallen  into  an  abyss,  and 
I  must  save  you ;   already  I  have  done  something.     See " 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  her  guarantee  and  Schmucke's  four 
bills,  which  the  countess  recognized,  and  threw  into  the  fire. 

"  What  would  have  become  of  you,  poor  Marie,  in  three 
months  from  now?  You  would  have  been  dragged  into  Court 
by  bailiffs.  Don't  hang  your  head,  don't  be  ashamed ;  you 
have  been  betrayed  by  the  noblest  of  feelings ;  you  have 
trifled,  not  with  a  man,  but  with  your  own  imagination. 
There  is  not  a  woman — not  one,  do  you  hear,  Marie  ? — who 
would  not  have  been  fascinated  in  your  place.  It  would  be 
absurd  that  men,  who,  in  the  course  of  twenty  years,  have 
committed  a  thousand  acts  of  folly,  should  insist  that  a  woman 
is  not  to  lose  her  head  once  in  a  lifetime.  Pray  heaven  I  may 
never  triumph  over  you  or  burden  you  with  a  pity  such  as  you 
repudiated  with  scorn  the  other  day  !  Possibly  this  wretched 
man  was  sincere  when  he  wrote  you,  sincere  in  trying  to  put 
an  end  to  himself,  and  sincere  in  returning  that  very  evening 
to  Florine.  A  man  is  a  poor  creature  compared  to  a  woman. 
I  am  speaking  now  for  you,  not  for  myself.  I  am  tolerant, 
but  society  is  not ;  it  shuns  the  woman  who  makes  a  scandal ; 
it  will  allow  none  to  be  rich  at  once  in  its  regard  and  in  the 
indulgence  of  passion.  Whether  this  is  just  or  not,  I  cannot 
say.  Enough  that  the  world  is  cruel.  It  may  be  that,  taken 
in  the  mass,  it  is  harsher  than  are  the  individuals  separately. 
A  thief,  sitting  in  the  pit,  will  applaud  the  triumph  of  inno- 
cence, and  filch  its  jewels  as  he  goes  out.  Society  has  no  balm 
for  the  ills  it  creates ;  it  honors  clever  roguery,  and  leaves 
unrewarded  silent  devotion.  All  this  I  see  and  know  ;  but  if 
I  cannot  reform  the  world,  at  least  I  can  protect  you  from 
yourself.  We  have  here  to  do  with  a  man  who  brings  you 
nothing  but  trouble,  not  with  a  saintly  and  pious  love,  such 
as  sometimes  commands  self-effacement  and  brings  its  own 
excuse  with  it.     Perhaps  I  have  been  to  blame  in  not  bring- 


128  A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

ing  more  variety  into  your  peaceful  life  ;  I  ought  to  have  en- 
livened our  calm  routine  with  the  stir  and  excitement  of 
travel  and  change.  I  can  see  also  an  explanation  of  the 
attraction  which  drew  you  to  a  man  of  note,  in  the  envy  you 
aroused  in  certain  women.  Lady  Dudley,  Madame  d'Espard, 
Madame  de  Manerville,  and  my  sister-in-law  Emilie  count  for 
something  in  all  this.  These  women,  whom  I  warned  you 
against,  have  no  doubt  worked  on  your  curiosity,  more  with 
the  object  of  annoying  me  than  in  order  to  precipitate  you 
a-mong  storms  which,  I  trust,  may  have  only  threatened  with- 
out breaking  over  you." 

The  countess,  as  she  listened  to  these  generous  words,  was 
tossed  about  by  a  host  of  conflicting  feelings,  but  lively  ad- 
miration for  Felix  dominated  the  tempest.  A  noble  and  high- 
spirited  soul  quickly  responds  to  gentle  handling.  This  sensi- 
tiveness is  the  counterpart  of  physical  grace.  Marie  appreciated 
a  magnanimity  which  sought  in  self-depreciation  a  screen  for 
the  blushes  of  an  erring  woman.  She  made  a  frantic  motion 
to  leave  the  room,  theli  turned  back,  fearing  lest  her  husband 
should  misunderstand  and  take  alarm. 

*'  Wait !  "  she  said,  as  she  vanished. 

Felix  had  artfully  prepared  her  defense,  and  he  was  soon 
recompensed  for  his  adroitness ;  for  his  wife  returned  with  the 
whole  of  Nathan's  letters  in  her  hand,  and  held  them  out  to 
him. 

"  Be  ray  judge,"  she  said,  kneeling  before  him. 

"  How  can  a  man  judge  where  he  loves?  "  he  replied. 

He  took  the  letters  and  threw  them  on  the  fire ;  later,  the 
thought  that  he  had  read  them  might  have  stood  between  him 
and  his  wife.  Marie,  her  head  upon  his  knees,  burst  into 
tears. 

**My  child,  where  are  yours?"  he  said,  raising  her  head. 

At  this  question,  the  countess  no  longer  felt  the  intolerable 
burning  of  her  cheeks,  a  cold  chill  went  through  her. 

"  That  you  may  not  suspect  your  husband  of  slandering  the 


A  DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  129 

man  whom  you  have  thought  worthy  of  you,  I  will  have  those 
letters  restored  to  you  by  Florine  herself." 

"Oh!  surely  he  would  give  them  back  if  I  asked  him," 
she  returned. 

"  And  supposing  he  refused  ?  " 

The  countess  hung  her  head. 

"The  world  is  horrid,"  she  said;  "I  will  not  go  into  it 
any  more;  I  will  live  alone  with  you,  if  you  forgive  me." 

"You  might  weary  again.  Beside,  what  would  the  world 
say  if  you  left  it  abruptly  ?  When  spring  comes,  we  will  travel, 
we  will  go  to  Italy,  we  will  wander  about  Europe,  until  an- 
other child  comes  to  need  your  care.  We  must  not  give  up 
the  ball  to  morrow,  for  it  is  the  only  way  to  get  hold  of  your 
letters  without  compromising  ourselves;  and  when  Florine 
brings  them  to  you,  will  not  that  be  the  measure  of  her 
power?  " 

"And  I  must  see  that?  "  said  the  terrified  countess. 

"To-morrow  night." 

Toward  midnight  next  evening  Nathan  was  pacing  the 
promenade  at  the  masked  ball,  giving  his  arm  to  a  domino 
with  a  very  fair  imitation  of  the  conjugal  manner.  After  two 
or  three  turns  two  masked  women  came  up  to  them. 

"  Fool !  you  have  done  for  yourself;  Marie  is  here  and  sees 
you,"  said  Vandenesse,  in  the  disguise  of  a  woman,  to  Nathan, 
while  the  countess,  all  trembling,  addressed  Florine — 

"  If  you  will  listen,  I  will  tell  you  secrets  which  Nathan  has 
kept  from  you,  and  which  will  show  you  the  dangers  that 
threaten  your  love  for  him." 

Nathan  had  abruptly  dropped  Florine's  arm  in  order  to 
follow  the  count,  who  escaped  him  in  the  crowd.  Florine 
went  to  take  a  seat  beside  the  countess,  who  had  drawn  her 
away  to  a  form  by  the  side  of  Vandenesse,  )i.ow  returned  to 
look  after  his  wife. 

"Speak  out,  my  dear,"  said  Florine,  "and  don't  suppose 
you  can  keep  me  long  on  the  tenter-hooks.  Not  a  creature 
9 


IGO  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

in  the  world  can  get  Raoul  from  me,  I  can  tell  you.  He  is 
bound  to  me  by  habit,  which  is  better  than  love  any  day," 

"  In  the  first  place,  are  you  Florine?  "  said  Felix,  resuming 
his  natural  voice. 

"  A  pretty  question  indeed  !  If  you  don't  know  who  I  am, 
why  should  I  believe  you,  pray?" 

"  Go  and  ask  Nathan,  who  is  hunting  now  for  the  mistress 
of  whom  I  speak,  where  he  spent  the  night  three  days  ago  ! 
He  tried  to  stifle  himself  with  charcoal,  my  dear,  unknown  to 
you,  because  he  was  ruined.  That's  all  you  know  about  the 
affairs  of  the  man  whom  you  profess  to  love ;  you  leave  him 
penniless,  and  he  kills  himself,  or  rather  he  doesn't,  he  tries 
to  and  fails.  Suicide  when  it  doesn't  come  off  is  much  on  a 
par  with  a  bloodless  duel." 

"  It  is  a  lie,"  said  Florine.  "  He  dined  with  me  that  day, 
but  not  till  after  sunset.  The  bailiffs  were  after  him,  poor 
boy.     He  was  in  hiding,  that's  all." 

"  Well,  you  can  go  and  ask  at  the  Hotel  du  Mail,  Rue  du 
Mail,  whether  he  was  not  brought  there  at  the  point  of  death 
by  a  beautiful  lady,  with  whom  he  has  had  clandestine  rela- 
tions for  a  year ;  the  letters  of  your  rival  are  hidden  in  your 
house,  under  your  very  nose.  If  you  care  to  catch  Nathan 
out,  we  can  go  all  three  to  your  house ;  there  I  shall  give  you 
ocular  proof  that  you  can  get  him  clear  of  his  difficulties  very 
shortly  if  you  like  to  be  good-natured." 

*' That's  not  good  enough  for  Florine,  thank  you,  my 
friend.  I  know  very  well  that  Nathan  can't  have  a  love 
affair." 

"  Because,  I  suppose,  he  has  redoubled  his  attentions  to 
you  of  late,  as  if  that  were  not  the  very  proof  that  he  is 
tremendously  in  love " 

"  With  a  society  woman  ? — Nathan?"  said  Florine.  "Oh! 
I  don't  trouble  about  a  trifle  like  that." 

"  Very  well,  would  you  like  him  to  come  and  tell  you  him- 
self that  he  won't  take  you  home  this  evening?" 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  131 

"If  you  get  him  to  say  that,"  answered  Florine,  "I  will 
let  you  come  with  me,  and  we  can  hunt  together  for  those 
letters,  which  I  shall  believe  in  when  I  see  them." 

"Stay  here,"  said  Felix,  "  and  watch." 

He  took  his  wife's  arm  and  waited  within  a  few  steps  of 
Florine.  Before  long  Nathan,  who  was  walking  up  and  down 
the  promenade,  searching  in  all  directions  for  his  mask  like  a 
dog  who  has  lost  its  master,  returned  to  the  spot  where  the 
mysterious  warning  had  been  spoken.  Seeing  evident  marks 
of  disturbance  on  Raoul's  brow,  Florine  planted  herself  firmly 
in  front  of  him  and  said  in  a  commanding  voice : 

"  You  must  not  leave  me ;  I  have  a  reason  for  wanting 
you." 

"Marie!  "  whispered  the  countess,  by  her  husband's  in- 
structions, in  Raoul's  ear.  Then  she  added :  "  Who  is  that 
woman  ?  Leave  her  immediately,  go  outside,  and  wait  for 
me  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase." 

In  this  terrible  strait,  Raoul  shook  off  roughly  the  arm  of 
Florine,  who  was  quite  unprepared  for  such  violence,  and, 
though  clinging  to  him  forcibly,  was  obliged  to  let  go. 
Nathan  at  once  lost  himself  in  the  crowd. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  cried  Felix  in  the  ear  of  the 
stupefied  Florine,  to  whom  he  offered  his  arm. 

"Come,"  she  said,  "let  us  go,  whoever  you  are.  Have 
you  a  carriage  ?  " 

Vandenesse's  only  reply  was  to  hurry  Florine  out  and  hasten 
to  rejoin  his  wife  at  a  spot  agreed  upon  under  the  colonnade. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  three  dominoes,  briskly  conveyed  by 
Vandenesse's  coachman,  arrived  at  the  house  of  the  actress, 
who  took  off  her  mask.  Mme.  de  Vandenesse  could  not 
repress  a  thrill  of  surprise  at  the  sight  of  the  actress,  boiling 
with  rage,  magnificent  in  her  wrath  and  jealousy.   . 

"There  is,"  said  Vandenesse,  "a  certain  writing-case,  the 
key  of  which  has  never  been  in  your  hands ;  the  letters  must 
be  in  it." 


132  A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE. 

"You  have  me  there;  you  know  something,  at  any  rate, 
which  has  been  bothering  me  for  some  days,"  said  Florine, 
dashing  into  the  study  to  fetch  the  writing-case, 

Vandenesse  saw  his  wife  grow  pale  under  her  mask.  Flor- 
ine's  room  told  more  of  Nathan's  intimacy  with  the  actress 
than  was  altogether  pleasant  for  a  romantic  lady-love.  A 
woman's  eye  is  quick  to  see  the  truth  in  such  matters,  and  the 
countess  read  in  the  promiscuous  household  arrangements  a 
confirmation  of  what  Vandenesse  had  told  her. 

Florine  returned  with  the  case. 

**  How  shall  we  open  it  ?  "  she  said, 

Then  she  sent  for  a  large  kitchen  knife,  and  when  her  maid 
brought  it,  brandished  it  with  a  mocking  air,  exclaiming — 

"  This  is  the  way  to  cut  off  the  pretty  dears'  heads  !  "* 

The  countess  shuddered.  She  realized  now,  even  more 
than  her  husband's  words  had  enabled  her  to  do  the  evening 
before,  the  depths  from  which  she  had  so  narrowly  escaped. 

"  What  a  fool  I  am  !  "  cried  Florine.  "  His  razor  would 
be  better." 

She  went  to  fetch  the  razor,  which  had  just  served  Nathan 
for  shaving,  and  cut  the  edges  of  the  morocco.  They  fell 
apart,  and  Marie's  letters  appeared.  Florine  took  up  one  at 
random. 

"  Sure  enough,  this  is  some  fine  lady's  work !  Only  see 
how  she  can  spell !  " 

Vandenesse  took  the  letters  and  handed  them  to  his  wife, 
who  carried  them  to  a  table  in  order  to  see  if  they  were  all 
there. 

**  Will  you  give  them  up  for  this?  "  said  Vandenesse,  hold- 
ing out  to  Florine  the  bill  for  forty  thousand  francs. 

"  What  a  donkey  he  is  to  sign  such  things  !  '  Bond  for 
bills,'"  cried  Florine,  reading  the  document.  "Ah!  yes, 
you  shall  have  your  fill  of  countesses  !     And  I,  who  worked 

*  In  the  French,  " poulets"  which  means  "  love-letters "  as  well  as 
"  chickens." 


A   DAUGHTER    OF  EVE.  18S 

myself  to  death,  body  and  soul,  raising  money  in  the  prov- 
inces for  him — I,  who  slaved  like  a  broker  to  save  him  ! 
That's  a  man  all  over ;  go  to  the  devil  for  him,  and  he'll 
trample  you  under  foot  !  I  shall  have  it  out  with  him  for 
this." 

Mme.  de  Vandenesse  had  fled  with  the  letters. 

"  Hi,  there !  pretty  domino  !  leave  me  one,  if  you  please, 
just  to  throw  in  his  face." 

"  That  is  impossible  now,"  said  Vandenesse. 

*'  And  why,  pray?  " 

**  The  other  domino  is  your  late  rival." 

"You  don't  say  so!  Well,  she  might  have  said  'Thank 
you!'  "  cried  Florine. 

"  And  what  then  do  you  call  the  forty  thousand  francs?  " 
said  Vandenesse,  with  a  polite  bow. 

It  very  seldom  happens  that  a  young  fellow  who  has  once 
attempted  suicide  cares  to  taste  for  a  second  time  its  discom- 
forts. When  suicide  does  not  cure  a  man  of  life  altogether, 
it  cures  him  of  a  self-sought  death.  Thus  Raoul  no  longer 
thought  of  making  away  with  himself  even  after  Florine's 
possession  of  Schmucke's  guarantee — plainly  through  the 
intervention  of  Vandenesse — had  reduced  him  to  a  still  worse 
plight  than  that  from  which  he  had  tried  to  escape.  He 
made  an  attempt  to  see  the  countess  again  in  order  to  explain 
to  her  the  nature  of  the  love  which  burned  brighter  than  ever 
in  his  breast.  But  the  first  time  they  met  in  society,  the 
countess  fixed  Raoul  with  that  stony,  scornful  glance  which 
makes  an  impassable  barrier  between  a  man  and  a  woman. 
With  all  his  audacity,  Nathan  made  no  further  attempt  during 
the  winter  to  approach  or  address  the  countess. 

He  unburdened  his  soul,  however,  to  Blondet,  discoursing 
to  him  of  Laura  and  Beatrice,  whenever  the  name  of  Mme. 
de  Vandenesse  occurred.  He  paraphrased  that  beautiful  pas- 
sage of  one  of  the  greatest  poets  of  his  day — "  Dream  of  the 
soul,  blue  flower  with  golden  heart,  whose  spreading  roots. 


134  A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE. 

finer  a  thousandfold  than  fairies*  silken  tresses,  pierce  to  tlie 
inmost  being  and  draw  their  life  from  all  that  is  purest  there  : 
flower  sweet  and  bitter  !  To  uproot  thee  is  to  draw  the 
heart's  blood,  oozing  in  ruddy  drops  from  thy  broken  stem  ! 
Ah  !  cursed  flower,  how  thou  hast  thriven  on  my  soul !  " 

"You're  driveling,  old  boy,"  said  Blondet.  *'  I  grant  you 
there  was  a  pretty  enough  flower,  only  it  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  soul ;  and  instead  of  crooning  like  a  blind  man  be- 
fore an  empty  shrine,  you  had  better  be  thinking  how  to  get 
out  of  this  scrape,  so  as  to  put  yourself  straight  with  the 
authorities  and  settle  down.  You  are  too  much  of  the  artist 
to  make  a  politician.  You  have  been  played  on  by  men  who 
are  your  inferiors.  Go  and  get  yourself  played  on  some  other 
stage." 

"  Marie  can't  prevent  my  loving  her,"  said  Nathan.  "  She 
shall  be  my  Beatrice." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  Beatrice  was  a  child  of  twelve,  whom 
Dante  never  saw  again  ;  otherwise,  would  she  have  been  Bea- 
trice? If  we  are  to  make  a  divinity  of  a  woman,  we  must 
not  see  her  to-day  in  a  mantle,  to-morrow  in  a  low-necked 
dress,  the  day  after  on  the  boulevards,  cheapening  toys  for 
her  last  baby.  While  there  is  Florine  handy  to  play  by  turns 
a  comedy  duchess,  a  tragedy  middle-class  wife,  a  negress,  a 
marchioness,  a  colonel,  a  Swiss  peasant-girl,  a  Peruvian  virgin 
of  the  sun  (the  only  virginity  she  knows  much  about;,  I  don't 
know  why  one  should  bother  about  society  women." 

Du  Tillet,  by  means  of  a  forced  sale,  compelled  the  penni- 
less Nathan  to  surrender  his  share  in  the  paper.  The  great 
man  received  only  five  votes  in  the  constituency  which  elected 
du  Tillet. 

When  the  Comtesse  de  Vandenesse,  after  a  long  and  de- 
lightful time  of  travel  in  Italy,  returned  in  the  following  winter 
to  Paris,  Nathan  had  exactly  carried  out  the  forecast  of  Felix. 
Following  Blondet's  advice,  he  was  negotiating  with  the  party 
in  power.     His  personal  afiairs  were  so  embarrassed  that,  one 


A  DAUGHTER   OF  EVE.  135 

day  in  the  Champs-Elysees,  the  Comtesse  Marie  saw  her  an- 
cient adorer  walking  in  the  sorriest  plight,  with  Florine  on 
his  arm.  In  the  eyes  of  a  woman,  the  man  to  whom  she  is 
indifferent  is  always  more  or  less  ugly ;  but  the  man  whom 
she  has  ceased  to  love  is  a  monster,  especially  if  he  is  of  the 
type  to  which  Nathan  belonged.  Mme.  de  Vandenesse  felt  a 
pang  of  shame  as  she  remembered  her  fancy  for  Raoul.  Had 
she  not  been  cured  before  of  any  unlawful  passion,  the  con- 
trast which  this  man,  already  declining  in  popular  estimation, 
then  offered  to  her  husband,  would  have  sufficed  to  give  the 
latter  precedence  over  an  angel. 

At  the  present  day  this  ambitious  author,  of  ready  pen  but 
halting  character,  has  at  last  capitulated  and  installed  himself 
in  a  sinecure  like  any  ordinary  being.  Having  supported 
every  scheme  of  disintegration,  he  now  lives  in  peace  beneath 
the  shade  of  a  ministerial  broad-sheet.  The  cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor,  fruitful  text  of  his  mockery,  adorns  his 
button-hole.  Peace  at  any  price,  the  stock-in-trade  of  his 
denunciation  as  editor  of  a  revolutionary  organ,  has  now  be- 
come the  theme  of  his  laudatory  articles.  The  hereditary 
principle,  butt  of  his  Saint-Simonian  oratory,  is  defended  by 
him  to-day  in  weighty  arguments.  This  inconsistency  has  its 
origin  and  explanation  in  the  change  of  front  of  certain  men 
who,  in  the  course  of  our  latest  political  developments,  have 
acted  as  Raoul  did. 

Jardies,  December,  1838. 


LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

To  George  Sand. 

Your  name,  dear  George,  while  casting  a  reflected 
radiance  on  my  book,  can  gain  no  new  glory  from  this 
page.     And  yet  it  is  neither  self-interest  nor  diffidence 
which  has  led  me  to  place  it  there,  but  only  the  wish 
that  it  should  bear  witness  to  the  solid  friendship  be- 
tween us,  which  has   survived  our  wanderings  atid 
separations,  and  triumphed  over  the  busy  malice  of  the 
world.      This  feeling  is  hardly  likely  now  to  change. 
The  goodly  compa?iy  of  friendly  names,   which  will 
remain  attached  to  my  works,  forms  an  element  of 
pleasure  in  the  midst  of  the  vexation  caused  by  their 
increasing  number.     Each  fresh  book,  in  fact,  gives 
rise  to  fresh  annoyance,  were  it  only  in  the  reproaches 
aimed  at  my  too  prolific  pen,  as  though  it  could  rival 
in  fertility  the  world  from  which  I  draw  my  models  ! 
Would  it  not  be  a  fine  thing,  George,  if  the  future 
antiquarian  of  dead  literatures  were  to  find  in  this 
company  none  but  great  names  and  generous  hearts, 
friends  bound  by  pure  and  holy  ties,  the  illustrious 
figures  of  the  century  ?     May  I  not  justly  pride  myself 
on  this  assured  possession,  rather  than  on  a  popularity 
necessarily  unstable  ?     For  him  who  knows  you  well, 
it  is  happiness  to  be  able  to  sign  himself,  as  I  do  here, 
Your  friend, 

De  Balzac. 
Vkris,  June,  1840. 


ass) 


FIRST  PART. 
I. 

LOUISE    DE   CHAULIEU   TO   RENEE    DE   MAUCOMBE. 

Paris,  September. 

SwEETHEARTj  I  too  am  free  of  school !  And  I  am  the  first 
too,  unless  you  have  written  to  Blois,  at  our  sweet  tryst  of 
letter-writing.  Raise  those  great,  sparkling  black  eyes  of 
yours,  fixed  on  my  opening  sentence,  and  keep  this  excite- 
ment for  the  letter  which  shall  tell  you  of  my  first  love.  By 
the  way,  why  always  "first?"  Is  there,  I  wonder,  a  second 
love? 

** Don't  go  running  on  like  this,"  you  will  say,  "but  tell 
me  rather  how  you  made  your  escape  from  the  convent  where 
you  were  to  take  your  vows."  Well,  dear,  I  don't  know 
about  the  Carmelites,  but  the  miracle  of  my  own  deliverance 
was,  I  can  assure  you,  most  humdrum.  The  cries  of  an 
alarmed  conscience  triumphed  over  the  dictates  of  a  stern 
policy — there's  the  whole  mystery.  The  sombre  melancholy 
which  seized  me  after  you  left  hastened  the  happy  climax,  my 
aunt  did  not  want  to  see  me  die  of  a  decline,  and  my  mother, 
whose  one  unfailing  cure  for  my  malady  was  a  novitiate,  gave 
way  before  her. 

So,  here  I  am  in  Paris,  thanks  to  you  too,  my  love  !  Dear 
Rende,  could  you  have  seen  me  the  day  I  found  myself  parted 
from  you,  well  might  you  have  gloried  in  the  deep  impression 
you  had  made  on  so  youthful  a  bosom.  We  had  lived  so  con- 
stantly together,  sharing  our  dreams  and  letting  our  fancy 
roam  together,  that  I  verily  believe  our  souls  had  become 
welded  together,  like  those  two  Hungarian  girls,  whose  death 

(137) 


138  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

we  heard  about  from  M.  Beauvisage* — poor  misnamed  being ! 
Never  surely  was  man  better  cut  out  by  nature  for  the  post  of 
convent  physician  ! 

Tell  me,  did  you  not  droop  and  sicken  with  your  darling? 

In  my  gloomy  depression,  I  could  do  nothing  but  count 
over  the  ties  which  bind  us.  But  it  seemed  as  though  distance 
had  loosened  them  ;  I  wearied  of  life,  like  a  turtle-dove 
widowed  of  her  mate.  Death  smiled  sweetly  on  me,  and  I 
was  proceeding  quietly  to  die.  To  be  at  Blois,  at  the  Car- 
melites, consumed  by  dread  of  having  to  take  my  vows  there, 
a  Mile,  de  la  Valliere,  but  without  her  prelude,  and  without 
my  Ren6e  !     Why  should  I  not  be  sick — sick  unto  death  ? 

How  different  it  used  to  be  !  That  monotonous  existence, 
where  every  hour  brings  its  duty,  its  prayer,  its  task,  with 
such  desperate  regularity  that  you  can  tell  what  a  Carmelite 
sister  is  doing  in  any  place,  at  any  hour  of  the  night  or  day ; 
that  deadly  dull  routine,  which  crushes  out  all  interest  in  one's 
surroundings,  had  become  for  us  two  a  world  of  life  and 
movement.  Imagination  had  thrown  open  her  fairy  realms, 
and  in  these  our  spirits  ranged  at  will,  each  in  turn  serving 
as  magic  steed  to  the  other,  the  more  alert  quickening  the 
drowsy ;  the  world  from  which  our  bodies  were  shut  out  be- 
came the  playground  of  our  fancy,  which  reveled  there  in 
frolicsome  adventure.  The  very  "  Li'--es  of  the  Saints," 
dreary  as  it  is,  helped  us  to  understand  what  was  so  carefully 
left  unsaid  !  But  the  day  when  I  was  reft  of  your  sweet  com- 
pany, I  became  a  true  Carmelite,  such  as  they  appeared  to  us, 
a  modern  Danaid,  who,  instead  of  trying  to  fill  a  bottomless 
barrel,  draws  every  day,  from  heaven  knows  what  deep,  an 
empty  pitcher,  thinking  to  find  it  full. 

My  aunt  knew  nothing  of  this  inner  life.      How  should 

she,  who    has  made  a   paradise   for  herself  within  the  two 

acres  of  her  convent,  understand  my  revolt  against  life?     A 

religious  life,  if  embraced  by  girls  of  our  age,  demands  either 

*  Handsome  face. 


LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES.  139 

an  extreme  simplicity  of  soul,  such  as  we,  sweetheart,  do  not 
possess,  or  else  an  ardor  for  self-sacrifice  like  that  which 
makes  my  aunt  so  noble  a  character.  But  she  sacrificed  her- 
self for  a  brother  to  whom  she  was  devoted  ;  to  do  the  same 
for  an  unknown  person  or  an  idea  is  surely  more  than  can  be 
asked  of  mortals. 

For  the  last  two  weeks  I  have  been  gulping  down  so  many 
reckless  words,  burying  so  many  reflections  in  my  bosom,  and 
accumulating  such  a  store  of  things  to  tell,  fit  for  your  ear 
alone,  that  I  should  certainly  have  been  suffocated  but  for  the 
resource  of  letter-writing  as  a  sorry  substitute  for  our  beloved 
talks.  How  hungry  one's  heart  gets  !  I  am  beginning  my 
journal  this  morning,  and  I  picture  to  myself  that  yours  is 
already  started,  and  that,  in  a  few  days,  I  shall  be  at  home  in 
your  beautiful  Gdmenos  valley,  which  I  know  only  through 
your  descriptions,  just  as  you  will  live  that  Paris  life,  revealed 
to  you  hitherto  only  in  our  dreams. 

Well,  then,  sweet  child,  know  that  on  a  certain  morning — 
a  red-letter  day  in  my  life — there  arrived  from  Paris  a  lady 
companion  and  Philippe,  the  last  remaining  of  my  grand- 
mother's valets,  charged  to  carry  me  off.  When  my  aunt 
summoned  me  to  her  room  and  told  me  the  news,  I  could  not 
speak  for  joy,  and  only  gazed  at  her  stupidly. 

"My  child,"  she  said,  in  her  guttural  voice,  "I  can  see 
that  you  leave  me  without  regret,  but  this  farewell  is  not  the 
last ;  we  shall  see  you  here  again.  God  has  placed  on  your 
forehead  the  sign  of  the  elect.  You  have  the  pride  which 
leads  to  heaven  or  to  hell,  but  your  nature  is  too  noble  to 
choose  the  downward  path.  I  know  you  better  than  you 
know  yourself;  with  you,  passion,  I  can  see,  will  be  very 
different  from  what  it  is  with  most  women." 

She  drew  me  gently  to  her  and  kissed  my  forehead.  The 
kiss  made  my  flesh  creep,  for  it  burned  with  that  consuming 
fire  which  eats  away  her  life,  which  has  turned  to  black  the 
azure  of  her  eyes,  and  softened  the  lines  about  them,  has 


140  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

furrowed  the  warm  ivory  of  her  temples,  and  cast  a  sallow 
tinge  over  the  beautiful  face. 

Before  replying,  I  kissed  her  hands. 

"  Dear  aunt,"  I  said,  "  I  shall  never  forget  your  kindness  ; 
and  if  it  has  not  made  your  nunnery  all  that  it  ought  to  be 
for  my  health  of  body  and  soul,  you  may  be  sure  nothing 
short  of  a  broken  heart  will  bring  me  back  again — and  that 
you  would  not  wish  for  me.  You  will  not  see  me  here  again 
till  my  royal  lover  has  deserted  me,  and  I  warn  you  that  if  I 
catch  him,  death  alone  shall  tear  him  from  me.  I  fear  no 
Montespan." 

She  smiled  and  said — 

"  Go,  madcap,  and  take  your  idle  fancies  with  you.  There 
is  certainly  more  of  the  bold  Montespan  in  you  than  of  the 
gentle  la  Vallidre." 

I  threw  my  arms  round  her.  The  poor  lady  could  not 
refrain  from  escorting  me  to  the  carriage,  where  her  tender 
gaze  was  divided  between  the  armorial  bearings  and  myself. 

At  Beaugency  night  overtook  me,  still  sunk  in  a  stupor  of 
the  mind  produced  by  these  strange  parting  words.  What 
can  be  awaiting  me  in  this  world  for  which  I  have  so 
hungered  ? 

To  begin  with,  I  found  no  one  to  receive  me ;  my  heart 
had  been  schooled  in  vain.  My  mother  was  at  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne,  my  father  at  the  Council ;  my  brother,  the  Due  de 
Rh^tore,  never  comes  in,  I  am  told,  till  it  is  time  to  dress 
for  dinner.  Miss  Griffith  (she  is  not  unlike  a  griffin)  and 
Philippe  took  me  to  my  rooms. 

The  suite  is  the  one  which  belonged  to  my  beloved  grand- 
mother, the  Princesse  de  Vauremont,  to  whom  I  owe  some 
sort  of  a  fortune  of  which  no  one  has  ever  said  one  word  to 
me.  As  you  read  this,  you  will  understand  the  sadness  which 
came  over  me  as  I  entered  a  place  sacred  to  so  many  memories, 
and  found  the  rooms  just  as  she  had  left  them  !  I  was  to  sleep 
in  the  bed  where  she  died. 


LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES.  141 

Sitting  down  on  the  edge  of  her  sofa,  I  burst  into  tears, 
forgetting  I  was  not  alone,  and  remembering  only  how  often 
I  had  stood  there  by  her  knees,  the  better  to  hear  her  words. 
There  I  had  gazed  upon  her  face,  buried  in  its  brown  laces, 
and  worn  as  much  by  age  as  by  the  pangs  of  approaching 
death.  The  room  seemed  to  me  still  warm  with  the  heat 
which  she  kept  up  there.  How  comes  it  that  Armande- 
Louise-Marie  de  Chaulieu  must  be  like  some  peasant-girl, 
who  sleeps  in  her  mother's  bed  the  very  morrow  of  her 
death  ?  For  to  me  it  was  as  though  the  princess,  who  died 
in  1817,  had  passed  away  but  yesterday. 

I  saw  many  things  in  the  room  which  ought  to  have  been 
removed.  Their  presence  showed  the  carelessness  with  which 
people,  busy,  with  affairs  of  State,  may  treat  their  own,  and 
also  the  little  thought  which  had  been  given  since  her  death 
to  this  grand  old  lady,  who  will  always  remain  one  of  the 
striking  figures  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Philippe  seemed 
to  divine  something  of  the  cause  of  my  tears.  He  told  me 
that  the  furniture  of  the  princess  had  been  left  to  me  in  her 
will  and  that  my  father  had  allowed  all  the  larger  suites  to  re- 
main dismantled,  as  the  Revolution  had  left  them.  On  hearing 
this  I  rose,  and  Philippe  opened  the  door  of  the  small  drawing- 
room  which  leads  into  the  reception-rooms. 

In  these  I  found  all  the  well-remembered  wreckage  ;  the 
panels  above  the  doors,  which  had  contained  valuable  pic- 
tures, bare  of  all  but  empty  frames ;  broken  marbles,  mirrors 
carried  off.  In  old  days  I  was  afraid  to  go  up  the  state  stair- 
case and  cross  these  vast,  deserted  rooms ;  so  I  used  to  go  to 
the  princess'  rooms  by  a  small  staircase  which  runs  under  the 
arch  of  the  larger  one  and  leads  to  the  secret  door  of  her 
dressing-room. 

My  suite,  consisting  of  a  drawing-room,  bedroom,  and  the 
pretty  morning-room  in  scarlet  and  gold,  of  which  I  have 
told  you,  lies  in  the  wing  on  the  side  of  the  Invalides.  The 
house  is  only  separated  from  the  boulevard  by  a  wall,  covered 


142  LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

with  creepers,  and  by  a  splendid  avenue  of  trees,  which  mingle 
their  foliage  with  that  of  the  young  elms  on  the  sidewalk  of 
the  boulevard.  But  for  the  blue-and-gold  dome  of  the  Inva- 
lides  and  its  gray  stone  mass,  you  might  be  in  a  wood. 

The  style  of  decoration  in  these  rooms,  together  with  their 
situation,  indicates  that  they  were  the  old  show  suite  of  the 
duchesses,  while  the  dukes  must  have  had  theirs  in  the  wing 
opposite.  The  two  suites  are  decorously  separated  by  the  two 
main  blocks,  as  well  as  by  the  central  one,  which  contains 
those  vast,  gloomy,  resounding  halls  shown  me  by  Philippe, 
all  despoiled  of  their  splendor,  as  in  the  days  of  my  child- 
hood. 

Philippe  grew  quite  confidential  when  he  saw  the  surprise 
depicted  on  my  countenance.  For  you  must  know  that  in 
this  home  of  diplomacy  the  very  servants  have  a  reserved  and 
mysterious  air.  He  went  on  to  tell  me  that  it  was  expected  a 
law  would  soon  be  passed  restoring  to  the  fugitives  of  the 
Revolution  the  value  of  their  property,  and  that  my  father  is 
waiting  to  restore  his  house  till  this  restitution  is  made,  the 
king's  architect  having  estimated  the  damage  at  three  hundred 
thousand  francs. 

This  piece  of  news  flung  me  back  despairing  on  my  draw- 
ing-room sofa.  Could  it  be  that  my  father,  instead  of  spend- 
ing this  money  in  arranging  a  marriage  for  me,  would  have 
left  me  to  die  in  the  convent  ?  This  was  the  first  thought  to 
greet  me  on  the  threshold  of  my  home. 

Ah  !  Renee,  what  would  I  have  given  then  to  rest  my  head 
upon  your  shoulder,  or  to  transport  myself  to  the  days  when 
my  grandmother  made  the  life  of  these  rooms?  You  two  in 
all  the  world  have  been  alone  in  loving  me — you  away  at 
Maucombe,  and  she  who  survives  only  in  my  heart,  the  dear 
old  lady,  whose  still  youthful  eyes  used  to  open  from  sleep  at 
my  call.     How  well  we  understood  each  other ! 

These  memories  suddenly  changed  my  mood.  What  at 
first  had  seemed  profanation,  now  breathed  of  holy  associa- 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  148 

tion.  It  was  sweet  to  inhale  the  faint  odor  of  the  powder  she 
loved  still  lingering  in  the  room  ;  sweet  to  sleep  beneath  the 
shelter  of  those  yellow  damask  curtains  with  their  white 
pattern,  which  must  have  retained  something  of  the  spirit 
emanating  from  her  eyes  and  breath.  I  told  Philippe  to  rub 
up  the  old  furniture  and  make  the  rooms  look  as  if  they 
were  lived  in  ;  I  explained  to  him  myself  how  I  wanted  every- 
thing arranged,  and  where  to  put  each  piece  of  furniture.  In 
this  way  I  entered  into  possession,  and  showed  how  an  air  of 
youth  might  be  given  to  the  dear  old  things. 

The  bedroom  is  white  in  color,  a  little  dulled  with  time, 
just  as  the  gilding  of  the  fanciful  arabesques  shows  here  and 
there  a  patch  of  red  ;  but  this  effect  harmonizes  well  with  the 
faded  colors  of  the  Savonnerie  tapestry,  which  was  presented 
to  my  grandmother  by  Louis  XV.  along  with  his  portrait. 
The  timepiece  was  a  gift  from  the  Marechal  de  Saxe,  and  the 
china  ornaments  on  the  mantelpiece  came  from  the  Marechal 
de  Richelieu.  My  grandmother's  portrait,  painted  at  the  age 
of  twenty-five,  hangs  in  an  oval  frame  opposite  that  of  the 
King.  The  prince,  her  husband,  is  conspicuous  by  his 
absence.  I  like  this  frank  negligence,  untinged  by  hypocrisy 
— a  characteristic  touch  which  sums  up  her  charming  person- 
ality. Once  when  my  grandmother  was  seriously  ill,  her  con- 
fessor was  urgent  that  the  prince,  who  was  waiting  in  the 
drawing-room,  should  be  admitted. 

*'  He  can  come  in  with  the  doctor  and  his  drugs,"  was  the 
reply. 

The  bed  has  a  canopy  and  well-stuffed  back,  and  the  curtains 
are  looped  up  with  fine  wide  bands.  The  furniture  is  of  gilded 
wood,  upholstered  in  the  same  yellow  damask  with  white 
flowers  which  drapes  the  windows,  and  which  is  lined  there 
with  a  white  silk  that  looks  as  though  it  were  watered.  The 
panels  over  the  doors  have  been  painted,  by  what  artist  I  can't 
say,  but  they  represent  one  a  sunrise,  the  other  a  moonlight 
scene. 


144  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

The  fireplace  is  a  very  interesting  feature  in  the  room.  It 
is  easy  to  see  that  life  in  the  last  century  centred  largely  round 
the  hearth,  where  great  events  were  enacted.  The  copper- 
gilt  grate  is  a  marvel  of  workmanship,  and  the  mantelpiece  is 
most  delicately  finished ;  the  andirons  are  beautifully  chased ; 
the  bellows  are  a  perfect  gem.  The  tapestry  of  the  screen 
comes  from  the  Gobelins  and  is  exquisitely  mounted  ;  charm- 
ing fantastic  figures  run  all  over  the  frame,  on  the  feet,  the 
supporting  bar,  and  the  wings ;  the  whole  thing  is  wrought 
like  a  fan. 

Dearly  should  I  like  to  know  who  was  the  giver  of  this 
dainty  work  of  art,  which  was  such  a  favorite  with  her.  How 
often  have  I  seen  the  old  lady,  her  feet  upon  the  bar,  reclin- 
ing in  the  easy-chair,  with  her  dress  half  raised  in  front, 
toying  with  the  snuff-box,  which  lay  upon  the  ledge  between 
her  box  of  pastilles  and  her  silk  mits.  What  a  coquette  she 
was  !  To  the  day  of  her  death  she  took  as  much  pains  with 
her  appearance  as  though  the  beautiful  portrait  had  been 
painted  only  yesterday,  and  she  were  waiting  to  receive  the 
throng  of  exquisites  from  the  Court  !  How  the  armchair 
recalls  to  me  the  inimitable  sweep  of  her  skirts  as  she  sank 
back  in  it ! 

These  women  of  a  past  generation  have  carried  off  with 
them  secrets  which  are  very  typical  of  their  age.  The  princess 
had  a  certain  turn  of  the  head,  a  way  of  dropping  her  glances 
and  her  remarks,  a  choice  of  words,  which  I  look  for  in  vain, 
even  in  my  mother.  There  was  subtlety  in  it  all,  and  there 
was  good-nature ;  the  points  were  made  without  any  affecta- 
tion. Her  talk  was  at  once  lengthy  and  concise  ;  she  told  a 
good  story,  and  could  put  her  meaning  in  three  words. 
Above  all,  she  was  extremely  free-thinking,  and  this  has 
undoubtedly  had  its  effect  on  ray  way  of  looking  at  things. 

From  seven  years  old  till  I  was  ten,  I  never  left  her  side; 
it  pleased  her  to  attract  me  as  much  as  it  pleased  me  to  go. 
This  preference  was  the  cause  of  more  than  one  passage  at 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  145 

arms  between  her  and  my  mother,  and  nothing  intensifies  feel- 
ing like  the  icy  breath  of  persecution.  How  charming  was 
her  greeting:  "Here  you  are,  little  rogue  !"  when  curiosity 
had  taught  me  how  to  glide  with  stealthy  snake-like  move- 
ments to  her  room.  She  felt  that  I  loved  her,  and  this  childish 
affection  was  welcome  as  a  ray  of  sunshine  in  the  winter  of  her 
life. 

I  don't  know  what  went  on  in  her  rooms  at  night,  but  she 
had  many  visitors ;  and  when  I  came  on  tiptoe  in  the  morn- 
ing to  see  if  she  were  awake,  I  would  find  the  drawing-room 
furniture  disarranged,  the  card-tables  set  out,  and  patches  of 
snuff  scattered  about. 

This  drawing-room  is  furnished  in  the  same  style  as  the  bed- 
room. The  chairs  and  tables  are  oddly  shaped,  with  claw  feet 
and  hollow  mouldings.  Rich  garlands  of  flowers,  beautifully 
designed  and  carved,  wind  over  the  mirrors  and  hang  down 
in  festoons.  On  the  consoles  are  fine  china  vases.  The 
ground  colors  are  scarlet  and  white.  My  grandmother  was  a 
high-spirited,  striking  brunette,  as  might  be  inferred  from  her 
choice  of  colors.  I  have  found  in  the  drawing-room  a  writing- 
table  I  remember  well ;  the  figures  on  it  used  to  fascinate  me ; 
it  is  plaited  in  graven  silver,  and  was  a  present  from  one  of  the 
Genoese  Lomellini.  Each  side  of  the  table  represents  the  oc- 
cupations of  a  different  season ;  there  are  hundreds  of  figures  in 
each  picture,  and  all  in  relief. 

I  remained  alone  for  two  hours,  while  old  memories  rose 
before  me,  one  after  another,  on  this  spot,  hallowed  by  the 
death  of  a  woman  most  remarkable  even  among  the  witty  and 
beautiful  Court  ladies  of  Louis  XV. 's  day. 

You  know  how  abruptly  I  was  parted  from  her,  at  a  day's 
notice,  in  1816. 

"Go  and  bid  good-by  to  your  grandmother,"  said  my 
mother. 

The  princess  received  me  as  usual,  without  any  display  of 
feeling,  and  expressed  no  surprise  at  my  departure. 
10 


146  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

"  You  are  going  to  the  convent,  dear,"  she  said,  "and  will 
see  your  aunt  there,  who  is  an  excellent  woman.  I  shall  take 
care,  though,  that  they  don't  make  a  victim  of  you;  you  shall 
be  independent,  and  able  to  marry  whom  you  please." 

Six  months  later  she  died.  Her  will  had  been  given  into 
the  keeping  of  the  Prince  de  Talleyrand,  the  most  devoted  of 
all  her  old  friends.  He  contrived,  while  paying  a  visit  to 
Mile,  de  Chargeboeuf,  to  intimate  to  me,  through  her,  that 
my  grandmother  forbade  me  to  take  the  vows.  I  hope,  sooner 
or  later,  to  meet  the  prince,  and  then  I  shall  doubtless  learn 
more  from  him. 

Thus,  sweetheart,  if  I  have  found  no  one  in  flesh  and  blood 
to  meet  me,  I  have  comforted  myself  with  the  shade  of  the 
dear  princess,  and  have  prepared  myself  for  carrying  out  one 
of  our  pledges,  which  was,  as  you  know,  to  keep  each  other 
informed  of  the  smallest  details  in  our  homes  and  occupations. 
It  makes  such  a  difference  to  know  where  and  how  the  life  of 
one  we  loved  is  passed  !  Send  me  a  faithful  picture  of  the 
veriest  trifles  around  you,  omitting  nothing,  not  even  the  sun- 
set lights  among  the  tall  trees. 

October  lOth. 

It  was  three  in  the  afternoon  when  I  arrived.  About  half- 
past  five,  Rose  came  and  told  me  that  my  mother  had  returned, 
so  I  went  downstairs  to  pay  my  respects  to  her. 

My  mother  lives  in  a  suite  on  the  first  floor,  exactly  corre- 
sponding to  mine,  and  in  the  same  block.  I  am  just  over  her 
head,  and  the  same  secret  staircase  serves  for  both.  My 
father's  rooms  are  in  the  block  opposite,  but  are  larger  by  the 
whole  of  the  space  occupied  by  the  grand  staircase  on  our 
side  of  the  building.  These  ancestral  mansions  are  so  spacious 
that  my  father  and  mother  continue  to  occupy  the  first-floor 
rooms,  in  spite  of  the  social  duties  which  have  once  more 
devolved  on  them  with  the  return  of  the  Bourbons,  and  are 
even  able  to  receive  in  them. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  147 

I  found  my  mother,  dressed  for  the  evening,  in  her  draw- 
ing-room, where  nothing  is  changed.  I  came  slowly  down 
the  stairs,  speculating  with  every  step  how  I  should  be  met  by 
this  mother  who  had  shown  herself  so  little  of  a  mother  to  me, 
and  from  whom,  during  eight  years,  I  had  heard  nothing 
beyond  the  two  letters  of  which  you  know.  Judging  it  un- 
worthy to  simulate  an  affection  I  could  not  possibly  feel,  I 
put  on  the  air  of  a  pious  imbecile,  and  entered  the  room  with 
many  inward  qualms,  which  however  soon  disappeared.  My 
mother's  tact  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  She  made  no  pre- 
tense of  emotion  \  she  neither  held  me  at  arm's-length  nor 
hugged  me  to  her  bosom  like  a  beloved  daughter,  but  greeted 
me  as  though  we  had  parted  the  evening  before.  Her  manner 
was  that  of  the  kindliest  and  most  sincere  friend,  as  she  ad- 
dressed me  like  a  grown  person,  first  kissing  me  on  the  fore- 
head, 

**  My  dear  little  one,"  she  said,  "  if  you  were  really  dying 
at  the  convent,  it  is  much  better  to  live  here  with  your  family. 
You  frustrate  your  father's  plans  and  mine ;  but  the  age  of 
blind  obedience  to  parents  is  past.  M.  de  Chaulieu's  inten- 
tion, and  in  this  I  am  quite  at  one  with  him,  is  to  lose  no 
opportunity  of  making  your  life  pleasant  and  of  letting  you 
see  the  world.  At  your  age  I  should  have  thought  as  you 
do,  therefore  I  am  not  vexed  with  you ;  it  is  impossible  you 
should  understand  what  we  expected  from  you.  You  will  not 
find  any  absurd  severity  in  me ;  and  if  you  have  ever  thought 
me  heartless,  you  will  soon  find  out  your  mistake.  Still, 
though  I  wish  you  to  feel  perfectly  free,  I  think  that,  to  begin 
with,  you  would  do  well  to  follow  the.  counsels  of  a  mother, 
who  wishes  to  be  a  sister  to  you." 

I  was  quite  charmed  by  the  duchess,  who  talked  in  a  gentle 
voice,  straightening  my  convent  tippet  as  she  spoke.  At  the 
age  of  thirty-eight  she  is  still  beautiful  as  an  angel.  She  has 
dark-blue  eyes,  with  silken  lashes,  a  smooth  forehead,  and 
a   complexion    so    pink  and   white    that    you    might   think 


148  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

she  paints.  Her  bust  and  shoulders  are  marvelous,  and  her 
waist  is  as  slender .  as  yours.  Her  hand  is  milk-white  and 
extraordinarily  beautiful ;  the  nails  catch  the  light  in  their 
perfect  polish,  the  thumb  is  like  ivory,  the  little  finger  stands 
just  a  little  apart  from  the  rest.  Her  foot  matches  the  hand  ; 
it  is  the  Spanish  foot  of  Mile,  de  Vandenesse.  If  she  is  like 
this  at  forty,  at  sixty  she  will  still  be  a  beautiful  woman. 

I  replied,  sweetheart,  like  a  good  little  girl.  I  was  as  nice 
to  her  as  she  to  me,  nay,  nicer.  Her  beauty  completely  van- 
quished me  ;  it  seemed  only  natural  that  such  a  woman  should 
be  absorbed  in  her  regal  part.  I  told  her  this  as  simply  as 
though  I  had  been  talking  to  you.  I  daresay  it  was  a  surprise 
to  her  to  hear  words  of  affection  from  her  daughter's  mouth, 
and  the  unfeigned  homage  of  my  admiration  evidently  touched 
her  deeply.  Her  manner  changed  and  became  even  more 
engaging  ;  she  dropped  all  formality  as  she  said — 

'*  I  am  much  pleased  with  you,  and  I  hope  we  shall  remain 
good  friends." 

The  words  struck  me  as  charmingly  naive,  but  I  did  not  let 
this  appear,  for  I  saw  at  once  that  the  prudent  course  was  to 
allow  her  to  believe  herself  much  deeper  and  cleverer  than 
her  daughter.  So  I  only  stared  vacantly  and  she  was  de- 
lighted. I  kissed  her  hands  repeatedly,  telling  her  how  happy 
it  made  me  to  be  so  treated  and  to  feel  at  my  ease  with  her. 
I  even  confided  to  her  my  previous  tremors.  She  smiled,  put 
her  arm  round  my  neck,  and  drawing  me  toward  her,  kissed 
me  on  the  forehead  most  affectionately. 

"Dear  child,"  she  said,  "  we  have  people  coming  to  dinner 
to-day.  Perhaps  you  will  agree  with  me  that  it  is  better  for 
you  not  to  make  your  first  appearance  in  society  till  you  have 
been  in  the  dressmaker's  hands ;  so,  after  you  have  seen  your 
father  and  brother,  you  can  go  upstairs  again." 

I  assented  most  heartily.  My  mother's  exquisite  dress  was 
the  first  revelation  to  me  of  the  world  which  our  dreams  had 
pictured ;  but  I  did  not  feel  the  slightest  desire  to  rival  her. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES.  149 

My  father  now  entered,  and  the  duchess  presentea  me  to 
him. 

He  became  all  at  once  most  affectionate,  and  played  the 
father's  part  so  well,  that  I  could  not  but  believe  his  heart  to 
be  in  it.  Taking  my  two  hands  in  his,  and  kissing  them,  with 
more  of  the  lover  than  the  father  in  his  manner,  he  said — 

"  So  this  is  my  rebel  daughter  !  " 

And  he  drew  me  toward  him,  with  his  arm  passed  tenderly 
round  my  waist,  while  he  kissed  me  on  the  cheeks  and  fore- 
head. 

"The  pleasure  with  which  we  shall  watch  your  success  in 
society  will  atone  for  the  disappointment  we  felt  at  your 
change  of  vocation,"  he  said.  Then,  turning  to  my  mother: 
"  Do  you  know  that  she  is  going  to  turn  out  very  pretty,  and 
you  will  be  proud  of  her  some  day  ?  Here  is  your  brother, 
Rhetore.  Alphonse,"  he  said  to  a  fine  young  man  who  came 
in,  "  here  is  your  convent-bred  sister  who  threatens  to  send 
her  nun's  frock  to  the  deuce." 

My  brother  came  up  in  a  leisurely  way  and  took  my  hand, 
which  he  pressed. 

"  Come,  come,  you  may  kiss  her,"  said  my  father. 

And  he  kissed  me  on  both  cheeks. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,"  he  said,  "  and  I  take  your  side 
against  my  father." 

I  thanked  him,  but  could  not  help  thinking  he  might  have 
come  to  Blois  when  he  was  at  Orleans  visiting  our  marquis 
brother  in  his  quarters. 

Fearing  the  arrival  of  strangers,  I  now  withdrew.  I  tidied 
up  my  rooms,  and  laid  out  on  the  scarlet  velvet  of  my  lovely 
table  all  the  materials  necessary  for  writing  you,  meditating 
all  the  while  on  my  new  situation. 

This,  my  fair  sweetheart,  is  a  true  and  veracious  account  of 
the  return  of  a  girl  of  eighteen,  after  an  absence  of  nine 
years,  to  the  bosom  of  one  of  the  noblest  families  in  the 
kingdom.     I  was  tired  by  the  journey  as  well  as  by  all  the 


150  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

emotions  I  had  been  through,  so  I  went  to  bed  in  convent 
fashion,  at  eight  o'clock,  after  supper.  They  have  preserved 
even  a  little  Saxe  service  which  the  dear  princess  used  when 
she  had  a  fancy  for  taking  her  meals  alone. 


n. 

THE   SAME  TO   THE   SAME. 

November  z^th. 

Next  morning  I  found  my  rooms  put  in  order  and  dusted, 
and  even  flowers  put  in  the  vases,  by  old  Philippe.  I  began 
to  feel  at  home.  Only  it  didn't  occur  to  anybody  that  a 
Carmelite  schoolgirl  has  an  early  appetite,  and  Rose  had  no 
end  of  trouble  in  getting  breakfast  for  me. 

"  Mile,  goes  to  bed  at  dinner-time,"  she  said  to  me,  "and 
gets  up  when  the  duke  is  just  returning  home." 

I  began  to  write.  About  one  o'clock  my  father  knocked  at 
the  door  of  the  small  drawing-room  and  asked  if  he  might 
come  in.  I  opened  the  door ;  he  came  in,  and  found  me 
writing  you. 

"My  dear,"  he  began,  "you  will  have  to  get  yourself 
clothes,  and  to  make  these  rooms  comfortable.  In  this  purse 
you  will  find  twelve  thousand  francs,  which  is  the  yearly 
income  I  propose  allowing  you  for  your  expenses.  You  will 
make  arrangements  with  your  mother  as  to  some  governess 
whom  you  may  like,  in  case  Miss  Griffith  doesn't  please  you, 
for  Mme.  de  Chaulieu  will  not  have  time  to  go  out  with  you 
in  the  mornings.  A  carriage  and  manservant  shall  be  at  your 
disposal." 

"Let  me  keep  Philippe,"  I  said. 

"So  be  it,"  he  replied.  "  But  don't  be  uneasy;  you  have 
money  enough  of  your  own  to  be  no  burden  either  to  your 
mother  or  me." 

"  May  I  ask  how  much  I  have  ?  " 


^'/'l 


"/■ 


A    FAMOUS    DRESSMAKER.    BY    NAME    VICTORINE,    HAS    COME. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  151 

** Certainly,  my  child,"  he  said.  "Your  grandmother  left 
you  five  hundred  thousand  francs ;  this  was  the  amount  of  her 
savings,  for  she  would  not  alienate  a  foot  of  land  from  the 
family.  This  sum  has  been  placed  in  Government  stock,  and, 
with  the  accumulated  interest,  now  brings  in  about  forty  thou- 
sand francs  a  year.  With  this  I  had  purposed  making  an  in- 
dependence for  your  second  brother,  and  it  is  here  that  you 
have  upset  my  plans.  Later,  however,  it  is  possible  that  you 
may  fall  in  with  them.  It  shall  rest  with  yourself,  for  I  have 
confidence  in  your  good  sense  far  more  than  I  had  expected. 

"  I  do  not  need  to  tell  you  how  a  daughter  of  the  Chaulieus 
ought  to  behave.  The  pride  so  plainly  written  in  your  features 
is  my  best  guarantee.  Safeguards,  such  as  common  people 
surround  their  daughters  with,  would  be  an  insult  in  our 
family.  A  slander  reflecting  on  your  name  might  cost  the 
life  of  the  man  bold  enough  to  utter  it,  or  the  life  of  one  of 
your  brothers,  if  by  chance  the  right  should  not  prevail.  No 
more  on  this  subject.     Good-by,  little  one." 

He  kissed  me  on  the  forehead  and  went  out.  I  cannot 
understand  the  relinquishment  of  this  plan  after  nine  years' 
persistence  in  it.  My  father's  frankness  is  what  I  like.  There 
is  no  ambiguity  about  his  words.  My  money  ought  to  belong 
to  his  marquis  son.  Who,  then,  has  had  bowels  of  mercy? 
My  mother  ?     My  father  ?     Or  could  it  be  my  brother  ? 

I  remained  sitting  on  my  grandmother's  sofa,  staring  at  the 
purse  which  my  father  had  left  on  the  mantel,  at  once  pleased 
and  vexed  that  I  could  not  withdraw  my  mind  from  the 
money.  It  is  true,  further  speculation  was  useless.  My  doubts 
had  been  cleared  up  and  there  was  something  fine  in  the  way 
my  pride  was  spared. 

Philippe  has  spent  the  morning  rushing  about  among  the 
various  stores  and  workpeople  who  are  to  undertake  the  task 
of  my  metamorphosis.  A  famous  dressmaker,  by  name  Victor- 
ine,  has  come,  as  well  as  a  woman  for  underclothing,  and  a 
shoemaker.    I  am  as  impatient  as  a  child  to  know  what  I  shall 


152  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES, 

be  like  when  I  emerge  from  the  sack  which  constituted  the 
conventual  uniform ;  but  all  these  tradespeople  take  a  long 
time ;  the  corsetmaker  requires  a  whole  week  if  my  figure  is 
not  to  be  spoilt.  You  see,  I  have  a  figure,  dear ;  this  becomes 
serious.  Janssen,  the  operatic  shoemaker,  solemnly  assures 
me  that  I  have  my  mother's  foot.  The  whole  morning  has 
gone  in  these  weighty  occupations.  Even  a  glovemaker  has 
come  to  take  the  measure  of  my  hand.  The  underclothing 
woman  has  received  my  orders. 

At  the  meal  which  I  call  dinner,  and  the  others  lunch,  my 
mother  told  me  that  we  were  going  together  to  the  milliner's 
to  see  some  hats,  so  that  my  taste  should  be  formed,  and  I 
might  be  in  a  position  to  order  my  own. 

This  burst  of  independence  dazzles  me.  I  am  like  a  blind 
man  who  has  just  recovered  his  sight.  Now  I  begin  to 
understand  the  vast  interval  which  separates  a  Carmelite  sister 
from  a  girl  in  society.  Of  ourselves  we  could  never  have  con- 
ceived it. 

During  this  lunch  my  father  seemed  absent-minded,  and 
we  left  him  to  his  thoughts;  he  is  deep  in  the  King's  confi- 
dence. I  was  entirely  forgotten  ;  but,  from  what  I  have  seen, 
I  have  no  doubt  he  will  remember  me  when  he  has  need  of 
me.  He  is  a  very  attractive  man  in  spite  of  his  fifty  years. 
His  figure  is  youthful ;  he  is  well  made,  fair,  and  extremely 
graceful  in  his  movements.  He  has  the  diplomatic  face,  at 
once  dumb  and  expressive ;  his  nose  is  long  and  slender,  and 
he  has  brown  eyes. 

What  a  handsome  pair !  Strange  thoughts  assail  me  as  it 
becomes  plain  to  me  that  these  two,  so  perfectly  matched  in 
birth,  wealth,  and  mental  superiority,  live  entirely  apart,  and 
have  nothing  in  common  but  their  name.  The  show  of  unity 
is  only  for  the  world. 

The  cream  of  the  Court  and  diplomatic  circles  were  here 
last  night.  Very  soon  I  am  going  to  a  ball  given  by  the 
Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  and  I  shall  be  presented  to  the 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  153 

society  I  am  so  eager  to  know.  A  dancing-master  is  coming 
every  morning  to  give  me  lessons,  for  I  must  be  able  to  dance 
in  a  month,  or  I  can't  go  to  the  ball. 

Before  dinner,  my  mother  came  to  talk  about  the  governess 
with  me.  I  have  decided  to  keep  Miss  Griffith,  who  was 
recommended  by  the  English  ambassador.  Miss  Griffith  is 
the  daughter  of  a  clergyman ;  her  mother  was  of  good  family, 
and  she  is  perfectly  well  bred.  She  is  thirty-six,  and  will 
teach  me  English.  The  good  soul  is  quite  handsome  enough 
to  have  ambitions  ;  she  is  Scotch — poor  and  proud — and  will 
act  as  my  chaperon.  She  is  to  sleep  in  Rose's  room.  Rose 
will  be  under  her  orders.  I  saw  at  a  glance  that  my  governess 
would  be  governed  by  me.  In  the  six  days  we  have  been 
together,  she  has  made  very  sure  that  I  am  the  only  person 
likely  to  take  an  interest  in  her ;  while,  for  my  part,  I  have 
ascertained  that,  for  all  her  statuesque  features,  she  will  prove 
accommodating.  She  seems  to  me  a  kindly  soul,  but  cautious. 
I  have  not  been  able  to  extract  a  word  of  what  passed  between 
her  and  my  mother. 

Another  trifling  piece  of  news  !  My  father  has  this  morn- 
ing refused  the  appointment  as  Minister  of  State  which  was 
offered  him.  This  accounts  for  his  preoccupied  manner  last 
night.  He  says  he  would  prefer  an  embassy  to  the  worries  of 
public  debate.     Spain  in  especial  attracts  him. 

This  news  was  told  me  at  lunch,  the  one  moment  of  the  day 
when  my  father,  mother,  and  brother  see  each  other  in  an  easy 
way.  The  servants  then  only  come  when  they  are  rung  for. 
The  rest  of  the  day  my  brother,  as  well  as  my  father,  spends 
out  of  the  house.  My  mother  has  her  toilet  to  make ;  between 
two  and  four  she  is  never  visible  ;  at  four  o'clock  she  goes 
out  for  an  hour's  drive;  when  she  is  not  dining  out,  she  re- 
ceives from  six  to  seven,  and  the  evening  is  given  to  enter- 
tainments of  various  kinds — theatres,  balls,  concerts,  at  homes. 
In  short,  her  life  is  so  full,  that  I  don't  believe  she  ever  has  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  to  herself.     She  must  spend  a  considerable 


154  LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES. 

time  dressing  in  the  morning ;  for  at  lunch,  which  takes  place 
between  eleven  and  twelve,  she  is  exquisite.  The  meaning  of 
the  things  that  are  said  about  her  is  dawning  on  me.  She 
begins  the  day  with  a  bath  barely  warmed,  and  a  cup  of  cold 
coffee  with  cream ;  then  she  dresses.  She  is  never,  except  on 
some  great  emergency,  called  before  nine  o'clock.  In  sum- 
mer there  are  morning  rides,  and  at  two  o'clock  she  receives 
a  young  man  whom  I  have  never  yet  contrived  to  see. 

Behold  our  family  life  !  We  meet  at  lunch  and  dinner, 
though  often  I  am  alone  with  my  mother  at  this  latter  meal, 
and  I  foresee  that  still  oftener  I  shall  take  it  in  my  own  rooms 
(following  the  example  of  my  grandmother)  with  only  Miss 
Griffith  for  company,  for  my  mother  frequently  dines  out.  I 
have  ceased  to  wonder  at  the  indifference  my  family  have 
shown  to  me.  In  Paris,  my  dear,  it  is  a  miracle  of  virtue  to 
love  the  people  who  live  with  you,  for  you  see  little  enough 
of  them  ;  as  for  the  absent — they  do  not  exist ! 

Knowing  as  this  may  sound,  I  have  not  yet  set  foot  in  the 
streets,  and  am  deplorably  ignorant.  I  must  wait  till  I  am 
less  of  the  country  cousin  and  have  brought  my  dress  and  de- 
portment into  keeping  with  the  society  I  am  about  to  enter, 
the  whirl  of  which  amazes  me  even  here,  where  only  distant 
murmurs  reach  my  ear.  So  far  I  have  not  gone  beyond  the 
garden ;  but  the  Italian  opera  opens  in  a  few  days,  and  my 
mother  has  a  box  there.  I  am  crazy  with  delight  at  the 
thought  of  hearing  Italian  music  and  seeing  French  acting. 

Already  I  begin  to  drop  convent  habits  for  those  of  society. 
I  spend  the  evening  writing  to  you  till  the  moment  for  going 
to  bed  arrives.  This  has  been  postponed  to  ten  o'clock,  the 
hour  at  which  my  mother  goes  out,  if  she  is  not  at  the  theatre. 
There  are  twelve  theatres  in  Paris. 

I  am  grossly  ignorant  and  I  read  a  lot,  but  quite  indiscrim- 
inately, one  book  leading  to  another.  I  find  the  names  of 
fresh  books  on  the  cover  of  the  one  I  am  reading ;  but  as  I 
have  no  one  to  direct  me,  I  light  on  some  which  are  fearfully 


LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES.  155 

dull.  What  modern  literature  I  have  read  all  turns  upon  love, 
the  subject  which  used  to  bulk  so  largely  in  our  thoughts,  be- 
cause it  seemed  that  our  fate  was  determined  by  man  and  for 
man.  But  how  inferior  are  these  authors  to  two  little  girls, 
known  as  Sweetheart  and  Darling — otherwise  Ren6e  and 
Louise.  Ah  !  my  love,  what  wretched  plots,  what  ridiculous 
situations,  and  what  poverty  of  sentiment !  Two  books,  how- 
ever, have  given  me  wonderful  pleasure — "Corinne"  and 
"Adolphe. "  Apropos  of  this,  I  asked  my  father  one  day 
whether  it  would  be  possible  for  me  to  see  Mme.  de  Stael. 
My  father,  mother,  and  Alphonse  all  burst  out  laughing,  and 
Alphonse  said : 

*'  Where  in  the  world  has  she  sprung  from  ?  " 

To  which  my  father  replied : 

"What  fools  we  are  !     She  springs  from  the  Carmelites." 

"My  child,  Mme.  de  Stael  is  dead,"  said  my  mother 
gently. 

When  I  had  finished  "  Adolphe,"  I  asked  Miss  Griffith  how 
a  woman  could  be  betrayed. 

"Why,  of  course,  when  she  loves,"  was  her  reply. 

Ren6e,  tell  me,  do  you  think  we  could  be  betrayed  by  a 
man? 

Miss  Griffith  has  at  last  discerned  that  I  am  not  an  utter 
ignoramus,  that  I  have  somewhere  a  hidden  vein  of  knowledge, 
the  knowledge  we  learned  from  each  other  in  our  random 
arguments.  She  sees  that  it  is  only  superficial  facts  of  which 
I  am  ignorant.  The  poor  thing  has  opened  her  heart  to  me. 
Her  curt  reply  to  my  question,  when  I  compare  it  with  all  the 
sorrows  I  can  imagine,  makes  me  feel  quite  creepy.  Once 
more  she  urged  me  not  to  be  dazzled  by  the  glitter  of  society, 
to  be  always  on  my  guard,  especially  against  what  most 
attracted  me.  This  is  the  sum-total  of  her  wisdom,  and  I 
can  get  nothing  more  out  of  her.  Her  lectures,  therefore, 
become  a  trifle  monotonous,  and  she  might  be  compared  in 
this  respect  to  the  bird  which  has  only  one  cry. 


156  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

III. 

THE  SAME  TO   THE  SAME. 

December. 

My  Darling  : — Here  I  am  ready  to  make  my  bow  to  the 
world.  By  way  of  preparation  I  have  been  trying  to  commit 
all  the  follies  I  could  think  of  before  sobering  down  for  my 
entry.  This  morning,  I  have  seen  myself,  after  many  re- 
hearsals, well  and  duly  equipped — stays,  shoes,  curls,  dress, 
ornaments — all  in  order.  Following  the  example  of  duelists 
before  a  meeting,  I  tried  my  arms  in  the  privacy  of  my 
chamber.  I  wanted  to  see  how  I  would  look,  and  had  no 
difficulty  in  discovering  a  certain  air  of  victory  and  triumph, 
bound  to  carry  all  before  it.  I  mustered  all  my  forces,  in 
accordance  with  that  splendid  maxim  of  antiquity  :  "  Know 
thyself!  "  and  boundless  was  my  delight  in  thus  making  my 
own  acquaintance.  Griffith  was  the  sole  spectator  of  this  doll's 
play,  in  which  I  was  at  once  doll  and  child.  You  think  you 
know  me  ?    You  are  hugely  mistaken  ! 

Here  is  a  portrait,  then,  Renee,  of  your  sister,  formerly 
disguised  as  a  Carmelite,  now  brought  to  life  again  as  a  frivo- 
lous society  girl.  She  is  one  of  the  greatest  beauties  in  France 
— Provence,  of  course,  excepted.  I  don't  see  that  I  can  give 
a  more  accurate  summary  of  this  interesting  topic. 

True,  I  have  my  weak  points ;  but  were  I  a  man,  I  should 
adore  them.  They  arise  from  what  is  most  promising  in  me. 
When  you  have  spent  a  fortnight  admiring  the  exquisite 
curves  of  your  mother's  arms,  and  that  mother,  the  Duchesse 
de  Chaulieu,  it  is  impossible,  my  dear,  not  to  deplore  your 
own  angular  elbows.  Yet  there  is  consolation  in  observing 
the  fineness  of  the  wrist,  and  a  certain  grace  of  line  in  those 
hollows,  which  will  yet  fill  out  and  show  plump,  round, 
and  well  modeled,  under  the  satiny  skin.     The  somewhat 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  157 

crude  outline  of  the  arms  is  seen  again  in  the  shoulders. 
Strictly  speaking,  indeed,  I  have  no  shoulders,  but  only  two 
bony  blades,  standing  out  in  harsh  relief.  My  figure  also 
lacks  pliancy  ;  there  is  a  stiffness  about  the  side-lines. 

Poof!  There's  the  worst  out.  But  then  the  contours  are 
bold  and  delicate,  the  bright,  pure  flame  of  health  bites  into 
the  vigorous  lines,  a  flood  of  life  and  of  blue  blood  pulses 
under  the  transparent  skin,  and  the  fairest  daughter  of  Eve 
would  seem  a  negress  beside  me  !  I  have  the  foot  of  a 
gazelle  !  My  joints  are  finely  turned,  my  features  of  a  Greek 
correctness.  It  is  true,  madame,  that  the  flesh  tints  do  not 
melt  into  each  other  :  but,  at  least,  they  stand  out  clear  and 
bright.  In  short,  I  am  a  very  pretty  green  fruit,  with  all  the 
charm  of  unripeness.  I  see  a  great  likeness  to  the  face  in  my 
aunt's  old  missal,  which  rises  out  of  a  violet  lily. 

There  is  no  silly  weakness  in  the  blue  of  my  insolent  eyes ; 
the  white  is  pure  mother-of-pearl,  prettily  marked  with  tiny 
veins,  and  the  thick,  long  lashes  fall  like  a  silken  fringe. 
My  forehead  sparkles,  and  the  hair  grows  deliciously;  it 
ripples  into  waves  of  pale  gold,  growing  browner  toward  the 
centre,  whence  escape  little  rebel  locks,  which  alone  would  tell 
that  my  fairness  is  not  of  the  insipid  and  hysterical  type.  I 
am  a  tropical  blonde,  with  plenty  of  blood  in  my  veins,  a 
blonde  more  apt  to  strike  than  to  turn  the  cheek.  What  do 
you  think  the  hairdresser  proposed?  He  wanted,  if  you 
please,  to  smooth  my  hair  into  two  bands  and  place  over  my 
forehead  a  pearl,  kept  in  place  by  a  gold  chain  !  He  said  it 
would  recall  the  Middle  Ages. 

I  told  him  I  was  not  aged  enough  to  have  reached  the 
middle,  or  to  be  of  any  age  but  what  I  am  1 

The  nose  is  slender,  and  the  well-cut  nostrils  are  separated 
by  a  sweet  little  pink  partition — an  imperious,  mocking  nose, 
with  a  tip  too  sensitive  ever  to  grow  coarse  or  red.  Sweet- 
heart, if  this  won't  find  a  husband  for  even  a  dowerless 
maiden,  I'm  a  donkey.     The  ears  are  daintily  curled,  a  pearl 


158  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

hanging  from  either  lobe  would  show  yellow.  The  neck  is 
long,  and  has  an  undulating  motion  full  of  dignity.  In  the 
shade  the  white  ripens  to  a  golden  tinge.  Perhaps  the  mouth 
is  a  little  large.  But  how  expressive  !  what  a  color  on  the 
lips  !  how  prettily  the  teeth  laugh  ! 

Then,  dear,  there  is  a  harmony  running  through  all.  What  a 
gait !  what  a  voice  !  We  have  not  forgotten  how  our  grand- 
mother's skirts  fell  into  place  without  a  touch.  In  a  word,  I  am 
lovely  and  charming.  When  the  mood  comes,  I  can  laugh  one 
of  our  good  old  laughs,  and  no  one  will  think  the  less  of  me ; 
the  dimples,  impressed  by  Comedy's  light  fingers  on  my  fair 
cheeks,  will  command  respect.  Or  I  can  let  my  eyes  fall 
and  my  heart  freeze  under  my  snowy  brow.  I  can  pose  as  a 
Madonna  with  melancholy,  swan-like  neck,  and  the  painters' 
virgins  will  be  nowhere ;  my  place  in  heaven  would  be  far 
above  them.  A  man  would  be  forced  to  chant  when  he  spoke 
to  me. 

So,  you  see,  my  panoply  is  complete,  and  I  can  run  the 
whole  gamut  of  coquetry  from  deepest  bass  to  shrillest  treble. 
It  is  a  huge  advantage  not  to  be  all  of  one  piece.  Now,  my 
mother  is  neither  playful  nor  virginal.  Her  only  attitude  is 
an  imposing  one  ;  when  she  ceases  to  be  majestic,  she  is  fero- 
cious. It  is  difficult  for  her  to  heal  the  wounds  she  makes, 
whereas  I  can  wound  and  heal  together.  We  are  absolutely 
unlike,  and  therefore  there  could  not  possibly  be  rivalry  be- 
tween us,  unless  indeed  we  quarreled  over  the  greater  or  less 
perfection  of  our  extremities,  which  are  similar.  I  take  after 
my  father,  who  is  shrewd  and  subtle.  I  have  the  manner  of 
my  grandmother  and  her  charming  voice,  which  becomes  fal- 
setto when  forced,  but  is  a  sweet-toned  chest  voice  at  the 
ordinary  pitch  of  a  quiet  talk. 

I  feel  as  if  I  had  left  the  convent  to-day  for  the  first  time. 
For  society  I  do  not  yet  exist ;  I  am  unknown  to  it.  What  a 
ravishing  moment !  I  still  belong  only  to  myself,  like  a  flower 
just  blown,  unseen  yet  of  mortal  eye. 


LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES.  160 

In  spite  of  this,  my  sweet,  as  I  paced  the  drawing-room 
during  my  self-inspection,  and  saw  the  poor  cast-ofF  school- 
clothes,  a  queer  feeling  came  over  me.  Regret  for  the  past, 
anxiety  about  the  future,  fear  of  society,  a  long  farewell  to 
the  pale  daisies  which  we  used  to  pick  and  strip  of  their  petals 
in  light-hearted  innocence,  there  was  something  of  all  that  j 
but  strange,  fantastic  visions  also  rose,  which  I  crushed  back 
into  the  inner  depths,  whence  they  had  sprung,  and  whither 
I  dared  not  follow  them. 

My  Renee,  I  have  a  regular  trousseau  !  It  is  all  beautifully 
laid  away  and  perfumed  in  the  cedar-wood  drawers  with  lac- 
quered front  of  my  charming  dressing-table.  There  are  rib- 
bons, shoes,  gloves,  all  in  lavish  abundance.  My  father  has 
kindly  presented  me  with  the  pretty  gewgaws  a  girl  loves — a 
dressing-case,  toilet  service,  scent-box,  fan,  sunshade,  prayer- 
book,  gold  chain,  cashmere  shawl.  He  has  also  promised  to 
give  me  riding  lessons.  And  I  can  dance  !  To-morrow,  yes, 
to-morrow  evening,  I  come  out ! 

My  dress  is  white  lawn,  and  on  my  head  I  wear  a  garland 
of  white  roses  in  Greek  style.  I  shall  put  on  my  Madonna 
face ;  I  mean  to  play  the  simpleton,  and  have  all  the  women 
on  my  side.  My  mother  is  miles  away  from  any  idea  of  what 
I  write  to  you.  She  believes  me  quite  destitute  of  mind,  and 
would  be  dumfounded  if  she  read  my  letter.  My  brother 
honors  me  with  a  profound  contempt,  and  is  uniformly  and 
politely  indifferent. 

He  is  a  handsome  young  fellow,  but  melancholy,  and  given 
to  moods.  I  have  divined  his  secret,  though  neither  the  duke 
nor  duchess  has  an  inkling  of  it.  In  spite  of  his  youth  and 
his  title,  he  is  jealous  of  his  father.  He  has  no  position  in 
the  State,  no  post  at  Court,  he  never  has  to  say  :  "I  am  going 
to  the  Chamber."  I  alone  in  the  house  have  sixteen  hours 
for  meditation.  My  father  is  absorbed  in  public  business  and 
his  own  amusements ;  my  mother,  too,  is  never  at  leisure ;  no 
member  of  the  household  by  any  chance  practices  self-exam- 


160  LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES. 

ination,  they  are  constantly  in  company,  and  have  hardly 
time  to  breathe. 

I  sliould  immensely  like  to  know  what  is  the  potent  charm 
wielded  by  society  to  keep  people  prisoner  from  nine  every 
evening  till  two  or  three  in  the  morning,  and  force  them  to 
be  so  lavish  alike  of  strength  and  money.  When  I  longed  for 
it,  I  had  no  idea  of  the  separations  it  brought  about,  or  its 
overmastering  spell.  But,  then,  I  forget,  it  is  Paris  which 
does  it  all. 

It  is  possible,  it  seems,  for  members  of  one  family  to  live 
side  by  side  and  know  absolutely  nothing  of  each  other.  A 
half-fledged  nun  arrives,  and  in  a  couple  of  weeks  has  grasped 
domestic  details,  of  which  the  master  diplomatist  at  the  head 
of  the  house  is  quite  ignorant.  Or  perhaps  he  does  see,  and 
shuts  his  eyes  deliberately,  as  part  of  the  father's  role.  There 
is  a  mystery  here  which  I  must  plumb. 


IV. 

THE  SAME  TO  THE  SAME. 

December  \^th. 

Yesterday,  at  two  o'clock,  I  went  to  drive  in  the  Champs- 
Elysees  and  the  Bois  de  Boulogne.  It  was  one  of  those 
autumn  days  which  we  used  to  find  so  beautiful  on  the  banks 
of  the  Loire.  So  I  have  seen  Paris  at  last !  The  Place 
Louis  XV.  is  certainly  very  fine,  but  the  beauty  is  that  of 
man's  handiwork. 

I  was  dressed  to  perfection,  pensive,  with  set  face  (though 
inwardly  much  tempted  to  laugh),  under  a  lovely  hat,  my 
hands  folded.  Would  you  believe  it?  Not  a  single  smile 
was  thrown  at  me,  not  one  poor  youth  was  struck  motionless 
as  I  passed,  not  a  soul  turned  to  look  again  ;  and  yet  the 
carriage  proceeded  with  a  deliberation  worthy  of  my  pose. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  161 

No,  I  am  wrong,  there  was  one — a  duke,  and  a  charming 
man — who  suddenly  reined  in  as  he  went  by.  The  individual 
who  thus  saved  appearances  for  me  was  my  father,  and  he  pro- 
claimed himself  highly  gratified  by  what  he  saw.  I  met  my 
mother  also,  who  sent  me  a  butterfly  kiss  from  the  tips  of  her 
fingers.  The  Griffith,  who  fears  no  man,  cast  her  glances 
hither  and  thither  without  discrimination.  In  my  judgment, 
a  young  woman  should  always  know  exactly  what  her  eye  is 
resting  on. 

I  was  mad  with  rage.  One  man  actually  inspected  my 
carriage  without  noticing  me.  This  flattering  homage  prob- 
ably came  from  a  carriage-maker.  I  have  been  quite  out  in 
the  reckoning  of  my  forces.  Plainly,  beauty,  that  rare  gift 
which  comes  from  heaven,  is  commoner  in  Paris  than  I 
thought.  I  saw  hats  doffed  with  deference  to  simpering  fools  \ 
a  purple  face  called  forth  murmurs  of:  "It  is  she !  "  My 
mother  received  an  immense  amount  of  admiration.  There  is 
an  answer  to  this  problem,  and  I  mean  to  find  it. 

The  men,  my  dear,  seemed  to  me  generally  very  ugly. 
The  few  exceptions  are  bad  copies  of  us.  Heaven  knows 
what  evil  genius  has  inspired  their  costume  ;  it  is  amazingly 
inelegant  compared  with  those  of  former  generations.  It  has 
no  distinction,  no  beauty  of  color  or  romance ;  it  appeals 
neither  to  the  senses,  nor  the  mind,  nor  the  eye,  and  it  must 
be  very  uncomfortable.  It  is  meagre  and  stunted.  The  hat, 
above  all,  struck  me  ;  it  is  a  sort  of  truncated  column,  and 
does  not  adapt  itself  in  the  least  to  the  shape  of  the  head ; 
but  I  am  told  it  is  easier  to  bring  about  a  revolution  than  to 
invent  a  graceful  hat.  Courage  in  Paris  recoils  before  the 
thought  of  appearing  in  a  round  felt ;  and,  for  lack  of  one 
day's  daring,  men  stick  all  their  lives  to  this  ridiculous  head- 
piece.    And  yet  Frenchmen  are  said  to  be  fickle  ! 

The  men  are  hideous  any  way,  whatever  they  put  on  their 
heads.  I  have  seen  nothing  but  worn,  hard  faces,  with 
neither  calm  nor  peace  in  the  expression  3  the  harsh  lines  and 
11 


162  LETTERS    OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

furrows  speak  of  foiled  ambition  and  smarting  vanity.  A  fine 
forehead  is  rarely  seen. 

"And  these  are  the  product  of  Paris!  "  I  said  to  Miss 
Griffith. 

"Most  cultivated  and  pleasant  men,"  she  replied. 

I  was  silent.  The  heart  of  a  spinster  of  thirty-six  is  a  well 
of  tolerance. 

In  the  evening  I  went  to  the  ball,  where  I  kept  close  to  my 
mother's  side.  She  gave  me  her  arm  with  a  devotion  which 
did  not  miss  its  reward.  All  the  honors  were  for  her ;  I  was 
made  the  pretext  for  charming  compliments.  She  was  clever 
enough  to  find  me  fools  for  my  partners,  who  one  and  all  ex- 
patiated on  the  heat  and  the  beauty  of  the  ball,  till  you  might 
suppose  I  was  freezing  and  blind.  Not  one  failed  to  enlarge 
on  the  strange,  unheard-of,  extraordinary,  odd,  remarkable 
fact — that  he  saw  me  for  the  first  time. 

My  dress,  which  dazzled  me  as  I  paraded  alone  in  my 
white-and-gold  drawing-room,  was  barely  noticeable  amidst 
the  gorgeous  finery  of  most  of  the  married  women.  Each 
had  her  band  of  faithful  followers,  and  they  all  watched  each 
other  askance.  A  few  were  radiant  in  triumphant  beauty, 
and  amongst  these  was  my  mother.  A  girl  at  a  ball  is  a  mere 
dancing  machine — a  thing  of  no  consequence  whatever. 

The  men,  with  rare  exceptions,  did  not  impress  me  more 
favorably  here  than  at  the  Champs-Elys6es.  They  have  a 
used-up  look;  their  features  are  meaningless,  or  rather  they 
have  all  the  same  meaning.  The  proud,  stalwart  bearing 
which  we  find  in  the  portraits  of  our  ancestors — men  who 
joined  moral  to  physical  vigor — has  disappeared.  Yet  in  this 
gathering  there  was  one  man  of  remarkable  ability,  who  stood 
out  from  the  rest  by  the  beauty  of  his  face.  But  even  he  did 
not  rouse  in  me  the  feeling  which  I  should  have  expected.  I 
do  not  know  his  works,  and  he  is  a  man  of  no  family.  What- 
ever the  genius  and  the  merits  of  a  plebeian  or  a  commoner, 
he  could  never  stir  my  blood.    Beside,  this  man  was  obviously 


LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES.  163 

SO  much  more  taken  up  with  himself  than  with  anybody  else, 
that  I  could  not  but  think  these  great  brain-workers  must  look 
on  us  as  things  rather  than  persons.  When  men  of  intellectual 
power  love,  they  ought  to  give  up  writing,  otherwise  their  love 
is  not  the  real  thing.  The  lady  of  their  heart  does  not  come 
first  in  all  their  thoughts.  I  seemed  to  read  all  this  in  the 
bearing  of  the  man  I  speak  of.  I  am  told  he  is  a  professor, 
orator,  and  author,  whose  ambition  makes  him  the  slave  of 
every  bigwig. 

My  mind  was  made  up  on  the  spot.  It  was  unworthy  of 
me,  I  determined,  to  quarrel  with  society  for  not  being  im- 
pressed by  my  merits,  and  I  gave  myself  up  to  the  simple 
pleasure  of  dancing,  which  I  thoroughly  enjoyed.  I  heard  a 
great  deal  of  inept  gossip  about  people  of  whom  I  knew  noth- 
ing ;  but  perhaps  it  is  my  ignorance  on  many  subjects  which 
prevents  me  from  appreciating  it,  as  I  saw  that  most  men  and 
women  took  a  lively  pleasure  in  certain  remarks,  whether  fall- 
ing from  their  own  lips  or  those  of  others.  Society  bristles 
with  enigmas  which  look  hard  to  solve.  It  is  a  perfect  maze 
of  intrigue.  Yet  I  am  fairly  quick  of  sight  and  hearing,  and 
as  to  my  wits.  Mile,  de  Maucombe  does  not  need  to  be  told  • 

I  returned  home  tired  with  a  pleasant  sort  of  tiredness,  and 
in  all  innocence  began  describing  my  sensations  to  my  mother, 
who  was  with  me.  She  checked  me  with  the  warning  that  I 
must  never  say  such  things  to  any  one  but  her. 

"  My  dear  child,"  she  added,  "it  needs  as  much  tact  to 
know  when  to  be  silent  as  when  to  speak." 

This  advice  brought  home  to  me  the  nature  of  the  sensa- 
tions which  ought  to  be  concealed  from  every  one,  not  except- 
ing perhaps  even  a  mother.  At  a  glance  I  measured  the  vast 
field  of  feminine  duplicity.  I  can  assure  you,  sweetheart, 
that  we,  in  our  unabashed  simplicity,  would  pass  for  two  very 
wide-awake  little  scandal-mongers.  What  lessons  may  be 
conveyed  in  a  finger  on  the  lips,  in  a  word,  a  look !  All  in  a 
moment  I  was  seized  with  excessive  shyness.     What !  may  I 


164  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

never  again  speak  of  the  natural  pleasure  I  feel  in  the  exercise 
of  dancing?  "How  then,"  I  said  to  myself,  "about  the 
deeper  feelings?" 

I  went  to  bed  sorrowful,  and  I  still  suffer  from  the  shock 
produced  by  this  first  collision  of  my  frank,  joyous  nature  with 
the  harsh  laws  of  society.  Already  the  highway  hedges  are 
flecked  with  my  white  wool !     Farewell,  beloved. 


V. 

RENiE    DE   MAUCOMBE   TO   LOUISE   DE   CHAULIEU. 

October. 

How  deeply  your  letter  moved  me  \  above  all,  when  I  com- 
pare our  widely  different  destinies !  How  brilliant  is  the 
world  you  are  entering,  how  peaceful  the  retreat  where  I  shall 
end  my  modest  career  1 

In  the  Castle  of  Maucombe,  which  is  so  well  known  to  you 
by  description  that  I  shall  say  no  more  of  it,  I  found  my  room 
almost  exactly  as  I  left  it ;  only  now  I  can  enjoy  the  splendid 
view  it  gives  of  the  Gemenos  valley,  which  my  childish  eyes 
used  to  see  without  comprehending.  Two  weeks  after  my 
arrival,  my  father  and  mother  took  me,  along  with  my  two 
brothers,  to  dine  with  one  of  our  neighbors,  M.  de  I'Estorade, 
an  old  gentleman  of  good  family,  who  has  made  himself  rich, 
after  the  provincial  fashion,  by  scraping  and  paring. 

M.  de  I'Estorade  was  unable  to  save  his  only  son  from  the 
clutches  of  Bonaparte ;  after  successfully  eluding  the  conscrip- 
tion, he  was  forced  to  send  him  to  the  army  in  1813,  to  join 
the  Emperor's  bodyguard.  After  Leipsic  no  more  was  heard 
of  him.  M.  de  Montriveau,  whom  the  father  interviewed  in 
1814,  declared  that  he  had  seen  him  taken  by  the  Russians. 
Mme.  de  I'Estorade  died  of  grief  whilst  a  vain  search  was 
being  made  in  Russia.  The  baron,  a  very  pious  old  man, 
practiced  that  fine  theological  virtue  which  we  used  to  culti- 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  166 

vate  at  Blois — Hope  !  Hope  made  him  see  his  son  in  dreams. 
He  hoarded  his  income  for  him,  and  guarded  carefully  the 
portion  of  inheritance  which  fell  to  him  from  the  family  of 
the  late  Mme.  de  I'Estorade,  no  one  venturing  to  ridicule  the 
old  man. 

At  last  it  dawned  upon  me  that  the  unexpected  return  of 
this  son  was  the  cause  of  my  own.  Who  could  have  imagined, 
whilst  fancy  was  leading  us  a  giddy  dance,  that  my  destined 
husband  was  slowly  traveling  on  foot  through  Russia,  Poland, 
and  Germany?  His  bad  luck  only  forsook  him  at  Berlin, 
where  the  French  Minister  helped  his  return  to  his  native 
country.  M.  de  I'Estorade,  the  father,  who  is  a  small  landed 
proprietor  in  Provence,  with  an  income  of  about  ten  thousand 
livres,  has  not  sufficient  European  fame  to  interest  the  world 
in  the  wandering  Knight  de  I'Estorade,  whose  name  smacks 
of  his  adventures. 

The  accumulated  income  of  twelve  thousand  livres  from 
the  property  of  Mme.  de  I'Estorade,  with  the  addition  of  the 
father's  savings,  provides  the  poor  guard  of  honor  with  some- 
thing like  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  livres,  not  counting 
house  and  lands — quite  a  considerable  fortune  in  Provence. 
His  worthy  father  had  bought,  on  the  very  eve  of  the  cheva- 
lier's return,  a  fine  but  badly-managed  estate,  where  he  de- 
signs to  plant  ten  thousand  mulberry-trees,  raised  in  his 
nursery  with  a  special  view  to  this  acquisition.  The  baron, 
having  found  his  long-lost  sonj  has  now  but  one  thought,  to 
marry  him,  and  marry  him  to  a  girl  of  good  family. 

My  father  and  mother  entered  into  their  neighbor's  idea 
with  an  eye  to  my  interests  so  soon  as  they  discovered  that 
Renee  de  Maucombe  would  be  acceptable  without  a  dowry, 
and  that  the  money  the  said  Renee  ought  to  inherit  from  her 
parents  would  be  duly  acknowledged  as  hers  in  the  contract. 
In  a  similar  way,  my  younger  brother,  Jean  de  Maucombe,  as 
soon  as  he  came  of  age,  signed  a  document  stating  that  he 
had  received  from  his  parents  an  advance  upon  the  estate 


166  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

equal  in  amount  to  one-third  of  the  whole.  This  is  the  device 
by  which  the  nobles  of  Provence  elude  the  infamous  Civil 
Code  of  M.  de  Bonaparte,  a  code  which  will  drive  as  many 
girls  of  good  family  into  convents  as  it  will  find  husbands  for. 
The  French  nobility,  from  the  little  I  have  been  able  to  gather, 
seem  to  be  much  divided  on  these  matters. 

The  dinner,  darling,  was  a  first  meeting  between  your  sweet- 
heart and  the  exile.  The  Comte  de  Maucombe's  servants 
donned  their  old  laced  liveries  and  hats,  the  coachman  his 
great  top-boots ;  we  sat  five  in  the  antiquated  carriage,  and 
arrived  in  state  about  two  o'clock — the  dinner  was  for  three — 
at  the  grange,  which  is  the  dwelling  of  the  Baron  de  I'Estorade. 

My  father-in-law  to  be  has,  you  see,  no  castle,  only  a  simple 
country  house,  standing  beneath  one  of  our  hills,  at  the  en- 
trance of  that  noble  valley,  the  pride  of  which  is  undoubtedly 
the  Castle  of  Maucombe.  The  building  is  quite  unpretentious: 
four  pebble  walls  covered  with  a  yellowish  wash,  and  roofed 
with  hollow  tiles  of  a  good  red,  constitute  the  grange.  The 
rafters  bend  under  the  weight  of  this  brick-kiln.  The  win- 
dows, inserted  casually,  without  any  attempt  at  symmetry, 
have  enormous  shutters,  painted  yellow.  The  garden  in  which 
it  stands  is  a  Provencal  garden,  inclosed  by  low  walls,  built 
of  big  round  pebbles  set  in  layers,  alternately  sloping  or  up- 
right, according  to  the  artistic  taste  of  the  mason,  which  finds 
here  its  only  outlet.  The  mud  in  which  they  are  set  is  falling 
away  in  places. 

Thanks  to  an  iron  railing  at  the  entrance  facing  the  road, 
this  simple  farm  has  a  certain  air  of  being  a  country-seat. 
The  railing,  long  sought  with  tears,  is  so  emaciated  that  it  re- 
called Sister  Ang^lique  to  me.  A  flight  of  stone  steps  leads  to 
the  door,  which  is  protected  by  a  pent-house  roof,  such  as  no 
peasant  on  the  Loire  would  tolerate  for  his  coquettish  white 
stone  house,  with  its  blue  roof,  glittering  in  the  sun.  The 
garden  and  surrounding  walks  are  horribly  dusty,  and  the  trees 
seem  burnt  up.     It  is  easy  to  see  that  for  years  the  baron's  life 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  167 

has  been  a  mere  rising  up  and  going  to  bed  again,  day  after 
day,  without  a  thought  beyond  that  of  piling  up  coppers.  He 
eats  the  same  food  as  his  two  servants,  a  Provencal  lad  and  the 
old  woman  who  used  to  wait  on  his  wife.  The  rooms  are 
scantily  furnished. 

Nevertheless,  the  house  of  I'Estorade  had  done  its  best ;  the 
cupboards  had  been  ransacked,  and  its  last  man  beaten  up  for 
the  dinner,  which  was  served  to  us  on  old  silver  dishes,  black- 
ened and  battered.  The  exile,  my  darling  pet,  is  like  the 
railing,  emaciated  !  He  is  pale  and  silent,  and  bears  traces 
of  suffering.  At  thirty-seven  he  might  be  fifty.  The  once 
beautiful  ebon  locks  of  youth  are  streaked  with  white  like  a 
lark's  wing.  His  fine  blue  eyes  are  cavernous;  he  is  a  little 
deaf,  which  suggests  the  Knight  of  the  Sorrowful  Coun- 
tenance. 

Spite  of  all  this,  I  have  graciously  consented  to  become 
Mme.  de  I'Estorade  and  to  receive  a  dowry  of  two  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  francs,  but  only  on  the  express  condition 
of  being  allowed  to  work  my  will  upon  the  grange  and  make 
a  park  around  it.  I  have  demanded  from  my  father,  in  set 
terms,  a  grant  of  a  water-course,  which  can  be  brought  thither 
from  Maucombe.  In  a  month  I  shall  be  Mme.  de  I'Estorade; 
for,  dear,  I  have  made  a  good  impression.  After  the  snows  of 
Siberia  a  man  is  ready  enough  to  see  merit  in  those  black  eyes, 
which,  according  to  you,  used  to  ripen  fruit  with  a  look. 
Louis  de  I'Estorade  seems  well  content  to  marry  the  "fair 
Renee  de  Maucombe  " — such  is  your  friend's  splendid  title. 

Whilst  you  are  preparing  to  reap  the  joys  of  that  many- 
sided  existence  which  awaits  a  young  lady  of  the  Chaulieu 
family,  and  to  queen  it  in  Paris,  your  poor  little  loved  one, 
Renee,  that  child  of  the  desert,  has  fallen  from  the  empyrean, 
whither  together  we  had  soared,  into  the  vulgar  realities  of  a 
life  as  homely  as  a  daisy's.  I  have  vowed  to  myself  to  com- 
fort this  young  man,  who  has  never  known  youth,  but  passed 
straight  from  his  mother's  arms  to  the  embrace  of  war,  and 


168  LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES. 

from  the  joys  of  his  country  home  to  the  frosts  and  forced 
labor  of  Siberia. 

Humble  country  pleasures  will  enliven  the  monotony  of 
my  future.  It  shall  be  my  ambition  to  enlarge  the  oasis 
round  my  house,  and  to  give  it  the  lordly  shade  of  fine  trees. 
My  turf,  though  Provencal,  shall  be  always  green.  I  shall 
carry  my  park  up  the  hillside  and  plant  on  the  highest  point 
some  pretty  kiosk,  whence,  perhaps,  my  eyes  may  catch  the 
shimmer  of  the  Mediterranean.  Orange  and  lemon  trees,  and 
all  choicest  things  that  grow,  shall  embellish  my  retreat ;  and 
there  will  I  be  a  mother  among  my  children.  The  poetry  of 
Nature,  which  nothing  can  destroy,  shall  hedge  us  round  ; 
and  standing  loyally  at  the  post  of  duty,  we  need  fear  no 
danger.  My  religious  feelings  are  shared  by  my  father-in-law 
and  by  the  chevalier. 

Ah  !  darling,  my  life  unrolls  itself  before  my  eyes  like  one 
of  the  great  highways  of  France,  level  and  easy,  shaded  with 
evergreen  trees.  This  century  will  not  see  another  Bonaparte ; 
and  my  children,  if  I  have  any,  will  not  be  rent  from  me. 
They  will  be  mine  to  train  and  make  men  of — the  joy  of  my 
life.  If  you  also  are  true  to  your  destiny,  you  who  ought  to 
find  your  mate  amongst  the  great  ones  of  the  earth,  the  chil- 
dren of  your  Ren^e  will  not  lack  a  zealous  protectress. 

Farewell,  then,  for  me  at  least,  to  the  romances  and  thrill- 
ing adventures  in  which  we  used  ourselves  to  play  the  part 
of  heroine.  The  whole  story  of  my  life  lies  before  me  now ; 
its  great  crisis  will  be  the  teething  and  nutrition  of  the  young 
Masters  de  I'Estorade,  and  the  mischief  they  do  to  my  shrubs 
and  me.  To  embroider  their  caps,  to  be  loved  and  admired 
by  a  sickly  man  at  the  mouth  of  the  Gemenos  valley — there 
are  my  pleasures.  Perhaps  some  day  the  country  dame  may 
go  and  spend  a  winter  in  Marseilles ;  but  danger  does  not 
haunt  the  purlieus  of  a  narrow  provincial  stage.  There  will 
be  nothing  to  fear,  not  even  an  admiration  such  as  could  only 
make  a  woman  proud.     We  shall  take  a  great  deal  of  interest 


LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES.  169 

in  the  silkworms  for  whose  benefit  our  mulberry-leaves  will  be 
sold  !  We  shall  know  the  strange  vicissitudes  of  life  in  Prov- 
ence, and  the  storms  that  may  attack  even  a  peaceful  house- 
hold. Quarrels  will  be  impossible,  for  M.  de  I'Estorade  has 
formally  announced  that  he  will  leave  the  reins  in  his  wife's 
hands ;  and  as  I  shall  do  nothing  to  remind  him  of  this  wise 
resolve,  it  is  likely  he  may  persevere  in  it. 

You,  my  dear  Louise,  will  supply  the  romance  of  my  life. 
So  you  must  narrate  to  me  in  full  all  your  adventures,  describe 
your  balls  and  parties,  tell  me  what  you  wear,  what  flowers 
crown  your  lovely  golden  locks,  and  what  are  the  words  and 
manners  of  the  men  you  meet.  Your  other  self  will  be  always 
there — listening,  dancing,  feeling  her  finger-tips  pressed — with 
you.  If  only  I  could  have  some  fun  in  Paris  now  and  then, 
while  you  played  the  house-mother  at  La  Crampade !  such  is 
the  name  of  our  grange.  Poor  M.  de  I'Estorade,  who  fancies 
he  is  marrying  one  woman  !     Will  he  find  out  there  are  two  ? 

I  am  writing  nonsense  now,  and  as  henceforth  I  can  only 
be  foolish  by  proxy,  I  had  better  stop.  One  kiss,  then,  on 
each  cheek — my  lips  are  still  virginal,  he  has  only  dared  to 
take  my  hand.  Oh  !  our  deference  and  propriety  are  quite 
disquieting,  I  assure  you.  There,  I  am  oflf  again.  Good-by, 
dear. 

P.S. — I  hsrve  just  opened  your  third  letter.  My  dear,  I 
have  about  one  thousand  livres  with  which  to  do  what  I  wish  ; 
spend  them  for  me  on  pretty  things,  such  as  we  can't  find 
here  nor  even  at  Marseilles.  While  speeding  on  your  own 
business,  give  a  thought  to  the  recluse  of  La  Crampade.  Re- 
member that  on  neither  side  have  the  heads  of  the  family  any 
people  of  taste  in  Paris  to  make  their  purchases.  I  shall  reply 
to  your  letter  later. 


170  LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES. 


VI. 


DON  FfeLIPE   HfeNAREZ  TO   DON   FERNAND. 

Paris,  September. 

The  address  of  this  letter,  my  brother,  will  show  you  that 
the  head  of  your  house  is  out  of  reach  of  danger.  If  the  mas- 
sacre of  our  ancestors  in  the  Court  of  Lions  made  Spaniards 
and  Christians  of  us  against  our  will,  it  left  us  a  legacy  of 
Arab  cunning ;  and  it  may  be  that  I  owe  my  safety  to  the 
blood  of  the  Abencerrages  still  flowing  in  my  veins. 

Fear  made  Ferdinand's  acting  so  good,  that  Valdez  actually 
believed  in  his  protestations.  But  for  me  the  poor  admiral 
would  have  been  done  for.  Nothing,  it  seems,  will  teach  the 
Liberals  what  a  king  is.  This  particular  Bourbon  has  been 
long  known  to  me  ;  and  the  more  his  majesty  assured  me  of 
his  protection,  the  stronger  grew  my  suspicions.  A  true 
Spaniard  has  no  need  to  repeat  a  promise.  A  flow  of  words 
is  a  sure  sign  of  duplicity. 

Valdez  took  ship  on  an  English  vessel.  For  myself,  no 
sooner  did  I  see  the  cause  of  my  beloved  Spain  wrecked  in 
Andalusia,  than  I  wrote  to  the  steward  of  my  Sardinian  estate 
to  make  arrangements  for  my  escape.  Some  hardy  coral 
fishers  were  dispatched  to  wait  for  me  at  a  point  on  the  coast ; 
and  when  Ferdinand  urged  the  French  to  secure  my  person, 
I  was  already  in  my  barony  of  Macumer,  amidst  brigands  who 
defy  all  law  and  all  avengers. 

The  last  Hispano-Moorish  family  of  Granada  has  found 
once  more  the  shelter  of  an  African  desert,  and  even  a  Saracen 
horse,  in  an  estate  which  comes  to  it  from  Saracens.  How 
the  eyes  of  these  brigands — who  but  yesterday  had  dreaded 
my  authority — sparkled  with  savage  joy  and  pride  when  they 
found  they  were  protecting  against  the  King  of  Spain's  ven- 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  171 

detta  the  Due  de  Soria,  their  master  and  a  Henarez — the  first 
who  had  come  to  visit  them  since  the  time  when  the  island  be- 
longed to  the  Moors.  More  than  a  score  of  rifles  were  ready 
to  point  at  Ferdinand  of  Bourbon,  son  of  a  race  which  was 
still  unknown  when  the  Abencerrages  arrived  as  conquerors 
on  the  banks  of  the  Loire. 

My  idea  had  been  to  live  on  the  income  of  these  huge 
estates,  which,  unfortunately,  we  have  so  greatly  neglected ; 
but  my  stay  there  convinced  me  that  this  was  impossible,  and 
that  Queverdo's  reports  were  only  too  correct.  The  poor 
man  had  twenty-two  lives  at  my  disposal,  but  not  a  single 
real ;  prairies  of  twenty  thousand  acres,  and  not  a  house ; 
virgin  forests,  and  not  a  stick  of  furniture  !  A  million  piastres 
and  a  resident  master  for  half  a  century  would  be  necessary  to 
make  these  magnificent  lands  pay.     I  must  see  to  this. 

The  conquered  have  time  during  their  flight  to  ponder  their 
own  case  and  that  of  their  vanquished  party.  At  the  spectacle 
of  my  noble  country,  a  corpse  for  monks  to  prey  on,  my  eyes 
filled  with  tears ;  I  read  in  it  the  presage  of  Spain's  gloomy 
future. 

At  Marseilles  I  heard  of  Riego's  end.  Painfully  did  it 
come  home  to  me  that  my  life  also  would  henceforth  be  a 
martyrdom,  but  a  martyrdom  protracted  and  unnoticed.  Is 
existence  worthy  the  name,  when  a  man  can  no  longer  die  for 
his  country  or  live  for  a  woman  ?  To  love,  to  conquer,  this 
twofold  form  of  the  same  thought,  is  the  law  graven  on  our 
sabres,  emblazoned  on  the  vaulted  roofs  of  our  palaces,  cease- 
lessly whispered  by  the  water,  which  rises  and  falls  in  our 
marble  fountains.  But  in  vain  does  it  nerve  my  heart ;  the 
sabre  is  broken,  the  palace  in  ashes,  the  living  spring  sucked 
up  by  the  barren  sand. 

Here,  then,  is  my  last  will  and  testament. 

Don  Fernand,  you  will  understand  now  why  I  put  a  check 
upon  your  ardor  and  ordered  you  to  remain  faithful  to  the 
reigning  king.     As  your  brother  and  friend,  I  implore  you  to 


172  LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES. 

obey  me ;  as  your  master,  I  command.  You  will  go  to  the 
King  and  will  ask  from  him  the  grant  of  my  dignities  and 
property,  my  office  and  titles.  He  will  perhaps  hesitate,  and 
may  treat  you  to  some  regal  scowls ;  but  you  must  tell  him 
that  you  are  loved  by  Marie  Heredia,  and  that  Marie  can 
marry  none  but  a  Due  de  Soria.  This  will  make  the  King 
radiant.  It  is  the  immense  fortune  of  the  H6r6dia  family 
which  alone  has  stood  between  him  and  the  accomplishment 
of  my  ruin.  Your  proposal  will  seem  to  him,  therefore,  to 
deprive  me  of  a  last  resource,  and  he  will  gladly  hand  over  to 
you  my  spoils. 

You  will  then  marry  Marie.  The  secret  of  the  mutual  love 
against  which  you  fought  was  no  secret  to  me,  and  I  have  pre- 
pared the  old  count  to  see  you  take  my  place.  Marie  and  I 
were  merely  doing  what  was  expected  of  us  in  our  position 
and  carrying  out  the  wishes  of  our  fathers ;  everything  else  is 
in  your  favor.  You  are  beautiful  as  a  child  of  love,  and  are 
possessed  of  Marie's  heart.  I  am  an  ill-favored  Spanish 
grandee,  for  whom  she  feels  an  aversion  to  which  she  will  not 
confess.  Some  slight  reluctance  there  may  be  on  the  part  of 
the  noble  Spanish  girl  on  account  of  my  misfortunes,  but  this 
you  will  soon  overcome. 

Due  de  Soria,  your  predecessor  would  neither  cost  you  a 
regret  nor  rob  you  of  a  maravedi.  My  mother's  diamonds, 
which  will  suffice  to  make  me  independent,  I  will  keep,  be- 
cause the  gap  caused  by  them  in  the  family  estate  can  be  filled 
by  Marie's  jewels.  You  can  send  them,  therefore,  by  my 
nurse,  old  Urraca,  the  only  one  of  my  servants  whom  I  wish 
to  retain.     No  one  can  prepare  my  chocolate  as  she  does. 

During  our  brief  revolution,  my  life  of  unremitting  toil 
was  reduced  to  the  barest  necessaries,  and  these  my  salary  was 
sufficient  to  provide.  You  will  therefore  find  the  income  of 
the  two  last  years  in  the  hands  of  your  steward.  This  sum  is 
mine ;  but  a  Due  de  Soria  cannot  marry  without  a  large 
expenditure  of  money,  therefore  we  will  divide  it.     You  will 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  173 

not  refuse  this  wedding  present  from  your  brother,  the  brigand. 
Beside,  I  mean  to  have  it  so. 

The  barony  of  Macumer,  not  being  Spanish  territory,  but 
in  Sardinia,  remains  to  me.  Thus  I  have  still  a  country  and  a 
name,  should  I  wish  to  take  up  a  position  in  the  world  again. 

Thank  heaven,  this  finishes  our  business,  and  the  house  of 
Soria  is  saved  ! 

At  the  very  moment  when  I  drop  into  simple  Baron  de 
Macumer,  the  French  cannon  announce  the  arrival  of  the 
Due  d'Angouleme.     You  will  understand  why  I  break  oif. 

October. 

When  I  arrived  here  I  had  not  ten  doubloons  in  my  pocket. 
He  would  indeed  be  a  poor  sort  of  leader  who,  in  the  midst 
of  calamities  he  has  not  been  able  to  avert,  has  found  means 
to  feather  his  own  nest.  For  the  vanquished  Moor  there 
remains  a  horse  and  the  desert ;  for  the  Christian  foiled  of  his 
hopes,  the  cloister  and  a  few  gold-pieces. 

But  my  present  resignation  is  mere  weariness.  I  am  not 
yet  so  near  the  monastery  as  to  have  abandoned  all  thoughts 
of  life.  Ozalga  had  given  me  several  letters  of  introduction 
to  meet  all  emergencies,  amongst  these  one  to  a  bookseller, 
who  takes  with  our  fellow-countrymen  the  place  which  Galig- 
nani  holds  with  the  English  in  Paris.  This  man  has  found 
eight  pupils  for  me  at  three  francs  a  lesson.  I  go  to  my 
pupils  every  alternate  day,  so  that  I  have  four  lessons  a  day 
and  earn  twelve  francs,  which  is  much  more  than  I  require. 
When  Urraca  comes  I  shall  make  some  Spanish  exile  happy 
by  passing  on  to  him  my  connection. 

I  lodge  in  the  Rue  Hillerin-Bertion  with  a  poor  widow, 
who  takes  bokrders.  My  room  faces  south  and  looks  out  on 
a  little  garden.  It  is  perfectly  quiet ;  I  have  green  trees  to 
look  upon,  and  spend  the  sum  of  one  piastre  a  day.  I  am 
amazed  at  the  amount  of  calm,  pure  pleasure  which  I  enjoy 
in  this  life,  after  the  fashion  of  Dionysius  at  Corinth.     From 


174  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

sunrise  until  ten  o'clock  I  smoke  and  take  my  chocolate, 
sitting  at  my  window  and  contemplating  two  Spanish  plants, 
a  broom  which  rises  out  of  a  clump  of  jessamine — gold  on  a 
white  ground,  colors  which  must  send  a  thrill  through  any 
scion  of  the  Moors.  At  ten  o'clock  I  start  for  my  lessons, 
which  last  till  four,  when  I  return  for  dinner.  Afterward  I 
read  and  smoke  till  I  go  to  bed. 

I  can  put  up  for  a  long  time  with  a  life  like  this,  com- 
pounded of  work  and  meditation,  of  solitude  and  society. 
Be  happy,  therefore,  Fernand  ;  my  abdication  has  brought  no 
afterthoughts;  I  have  no  regrets  like  Charles  V.,  no  longing 
to  try  the  game  again  like  Napoleon.  Five  days  and  nights 
have  passed  since  I  wrote  my  will ;  to  my  mind  they  might 
have  been  five  centuries.  Honor,  titles,  wealth,  are  for  me 
as  though  they  had  never  existed. 

Now  that  the  conventional  barrier  of  respect  which  hedged 
me  round  has  fallen,  I  can  open  my  heart  to  you,  dear  boy. 
Though  cased  in  the  armor  of  gravity,  this  heart  is  full  of 
tenderness  and  devotion,  which  have  found  no  object,  and 
which  no  woman  has  divined,  not  even  she  who,  from  her 
cradle,  has  been  my  destined  bride.  In  this  lies  the  secret  of 
my  political  enthusiasm.  Spain  has  taken  the  place  of  a 
mistress  and  received  the  homage  of  my  heart.  And  now 
Spain,  too,  is  gone  !  Beggared  of  all,  I  can  gaze  upon  the 
ruin  of  what  once  was  me  and  speculate  over  the  mysteries  of 
my  being. 

Why  did  life  animate  this  carcase,  and  when  will  it  depart  ? 
Why  has  that  race,  preeminent  in  chivalry,  breathed  all  its 
primitive  virtues — its  tropical  love,  its  fiery  poetry — into  this 
its  last  offshoot,  if  the  seed  was  never  to  burst  its  rugged 
shell,  if  no  stem  was  to  spring  forth,  no  radiant  flower  scatter 
aloft  its  Eastern  perfumes?  Of  what  crime  have  I  been 
guilty  before  my  birth  that  I  can  inspire  no  love?  Did  fate 
from  my  very  infancy  decree  that  I  should  be  stranded,  a  use- 
less hulk,  on  some  barren  shore  ?    I  find  in  my  soul  the  image 


/    SMOKE    AND    TAKE    MY    CHOCOLATE,    SITTING    AT    MY 
WINDOW. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  175 

of  the  deserts  where  my  fathers  ranged,  illumined  by  a  scorch- 
ing sun  which  shrivels  up  all  life.  Proud  remnant  of  a  fallen 
race,  vain  force,  love  run  to  waste,  an  old  man  in  the  prime 
of  youth,  here  better  than  elsewhere  shall  I  await  the  last 
grace  of  death.  Alas  !  under  this  murky  sky  no  spark  will 
kindle  these  ashes  again  to  flame.  Thus  my  last  words  may 
be  those  of  Christ:  "My  God,  why  hast  Thou  forsaken 
me?"  Cry  of  agony  and  terror,  to  khe  core  of  which  no 
mortal  has  ventured  yet  to  penetrate  ! 

You  can  realize  now,  Fernand,  what  a  joy  it  is  to  me  to 
live  afresh  in  you  and  Marie.  I  shall  watch  you  henceforth 
with  the  pride  of  a  creator  satisfied  in  his  work.  Love  each 
other  well  and  go  on  loving  if  you  would  not  give  me  pain  ; 
any  discord  between  you  would  hurt  me  more  than  it  would 
yourselves. 

Our  mother  had  a  presentiment  that  events  would  one  day 
serve  her  wishes.  It  may  be  that  the  longing  of  a  mother 
constitutes  a  pact  between  herself  and  God,  Was  she  not, 
moreover,  one  of  those  mysterious  beings  who  can  hold  con- 
verse with  heaven  and  bring  back  thence  a  vision  of  the 
future  ?  How  often  have  I  not  read  in  the  lines  of  her  fore- 
head that  she  was  coveting  for  Fernand  the  honors  and  the 
wealth  of  Felipe !  When  I  said  so  to  her,  she  would  reply 
with  tears,  laying  bare  the  wounds  of  a  heart,  which  of  right 
was  the  undivided  property  of  both  her  sons,  but  which  an 
irresistible  passion  gave  to  you  alone. 

Her  spirit,  therefore,  will  hover  joyfully  above  your  heads 
as  you  bow  them  at  the  altar.  My  mother,  have  you  not  a 
caress  for  your  Felipe  now  that  he  has  yielded  to  your  favorite 
even  the  girl  whom  you  regretfully  thrust  into  his  arms? 
What  I  have  done  is  pleasing  to  our  womankind,  to  the  dead, 
and  to  the  King ;  it  is  the  will  of  God.  Make  no  difficulty 
then,  Fernand ;  obey,  and  be  silent. 

P.S. — Tell  Urraca  to  be  sure  and  call  me  nothing  but  M. 


176  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

Henarez.  Don't  say  a  word  about  me  to  Marie.  You  must 
be  the  one  living  soul  to  know  the  secrets  of  the  last  Christian- 
ized Moor,  in  whose  veins  runs  the  blood  of  a  great  family, 
which  took  its  rise  in  the  desert  and  is  now  about  to  die  out 
in  the  person  of  a  solitary  exile.     Farewell. 

VII. 

LOUISE  DE  CHAULIEU  TO  REN^E   DE   MAUCOMBE. 

What !  To  be  married  so  soon  !  But  this  is  unheard  of. 
At  the  end  of  a  month  you  become  engaged  to  a  man  who  is 
a  stranger  to  you,  and  about  whom  you  know  nothing.  The 
man  may  be  deaf — there  are  so  many  kinds  of  deafness  ! — he 
may  be  sickly,  tiresome,  insufferable  ! 

Don't  you  see,  Ren6e,  what  they  want  with  you  ?  You  are 
needful  for  carrying  on  the  glorious  stock  of  the  I'Estorades, 
that  is  all.  You  will  be  buried  in  the  provinces.  Are  these 
the  promises  we  made  each  other  ?  Were  I  you,  I  would 
sooner  set  off  to  the  Hyeres  islands  in  a  boat,  on  the  chance 
of  being  captured  by  an  Algerian  corsair  and  sold  to  the 
Grand  Turk.  Then  I  should  be  a  Sultana  some  day,  and 
wouldn't  I  make  a  stir  in  the  harem  while  I  was  young — yes, 
and  afterward  too ! 

You  are  leaving  one  convent  to  enter  another.  I  know 
you ;  you  are  a  coward,  and  you  will  submit  to  the  yoke  of 
family  life  with  a  lamb-like  docility.  But  I  am  here  to  direct 
you  ;  you  must  come  to  Paris.  There  we  shall  drive  the  men 
wild  and  hold  a  court  like  queens.  Your  husband,  sweet 
love,  in  three  years  from  now  may  become  a  member  of  the 
Chamber.  I  know  all  about  members  now,  and  I  will  explain 
it  to  you.  You  will  work  that  machine  very  well ;  you  can 
live  in  Paris,  and  become  there  what  my  mother  calls  a  woman 
of  fashion.  Oh !  you  needn't  suppose  I  will  leave  you  in 
your  grange ! 


LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES.  VII 

Monday. 

For  a  whole  fortnight  now,  my  dear,  I  have  been  living  the 
life  of  society :  one  evening  at  the  Italiens,  another  at  the 
grand  opera,  and  always  a  ball  afterward.  Ah  !  society  is  a 
witching  world.  The  music  of  the  opera  enchants  me ;  and 
whilst  my  soul  is  plunged  in  divine  pleasure,  I  am  the  centre 
of  admiration  and  the  focus  of  all  the  opera-glasses.  But  a 
single  glance  will  make  the  boldest  youth  drop  his  eyes. 

I  have  seen  some  charming  young  men  there  ;  all  the  same, 
I  don't  care  for  any  of  them  ;  not  one  has  roused  in  me  the 
emotion  which  I  feel  when  I  listen  to  Garcia  in  his  splendid 
duet  with  Pellegrini  in  "Otello."  Heavens!  how  jealous 
Rossini  must  have  been  to  express  jealousy  so  well !  What  a 
cry  in  "II  mio  cor  si  divide  !  "  I'm  speaking  Greek  to  you, 
for  you  never  heard  Garcia,  but  then  you  know  how  jealous 
I  am  ! 

What  a  wretched  dramatist  Shakespeare  is !  Othello  is  in 
love  with  glory;  he  wins  battles,  he  gives  orders,  he  struts 
about  and  is  all  over  the  place  while  Desdemona  sits  at  home ; 
and  Desdemona,  who  sees  herself  neglected  for  the  silly  fuss 
of  public  life,  is  quite  meek  all  the  time.  Such  a  sheep  de- 
serves to  be  slaughtered.  Let  the  man  whom  I  deign  to  love 
beware  how  he  thinks  of  anything  but  loving  me  ! 

For  my  part,  I  like  those  long  trials  of  the  old-fashioned 
chivalry.  That  lout  of  a  young  lord,  who  took  offense  be- 
cause his  sovereign  lady  sent  him  down  among  the  lions  to 
fetch  her  glove,  was,  in  my  opinion,  very  impertinent,  and  a 
fool  too.  Doubtless  the  lady  had  in  reserve  for  him  some 
exquisite  flower  of  love,  which  he  lost,  as  he  well  deserved — 
the  puppy  ! 

But  here  am  I  running  on  as  though  I  had  not  a  great  piece 
of  news  to  tell  you  !  My  father  is  certainly  going  to  repre- 
sent our  master  the  King  at  Madrid.  I  say  our  master,  for  I 
shall  make  part  of  the  embassy.  My  mother  wishes  to  remain 
12 


178  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

here,  and  my  father  will  take  me  so  as  to  have  some  woman 
about  him. 

My  dear,  this  seems  to  you,  no  doubt,  very  simple,  but 
there  are  horrors  behind  it,  all  the  same :  in  a  fortnight  I 
have  probed  the  secrets  of  the  house.  My  mother  would  ac- 
company my  father  to  Madrid  if  he  would  take  M.  de  Canalis 
as  a  secretary  to  the  embassy.  But  the  King  appoints  the 
secretaries ;  the  duke  dare  neither  annoy  the  King,  who  hates 
to  be  opposed,  nor  vex  my  mother ;  and  the  wily  diplomat  be- 
lieves he  has  cut  the  knot  by  leaving  the  duchess  here.  M.  de 
Canalis,  who  is  the  great  poet  of  the  day,  is  the  young  man 
who  cultivates  my  mother's  society,  and  who  no  doubt  studies 
diplomacy  with  her  from  three  o'clock  to  five.  Diplomacy 
must  be  an  interesting  subject,  for  he  is  as  regular  as  a  gambler 
on  the  Stock  Exchange. 

The  Due  de  Rh6tore,  our  elder  brother,  solemn,  cold,  and 
whimsical,  would  be  extinguished  by  his  father  at  Madrid, 
therefore  he  remains  in  Paris.  Miss  Griffith  has  found  out, 
also,  that  Alphonse  is  in  love  with  a  ballet-girl  at  the  opera. 
How  is  it  possible  to  fall  in  love  with  legs  and  pirouettes? 
We  have  noticed  that  my  brother  comes  to  the  theatre  only 
when  TuUia  dances  there;  he  applauds  the  steps  of  this 
creature,  and  then  goes  out.  Two  ballet-girls  in  a  family  are, 
I  fancy,  more  destructive  than  the  plague.  My  second  brother 
is  with  his  regiment,  and  I  have  not  yet  seen  him.  Thus  it 
comes  about  that  I  have  to  act  as  the  Antigone  of  his  majesty's 
ambassador.  Perhaps  I  may  get  married  in  Spain,  and  per- 
haps my  father's  idea  is  a  marriage  there  without  dowry,  after 
the  pattern  of  yours  with  this  broken-down  guard  of  honor. 
My  father  asked  if  I  would  go  with  him,  and  offered  me  the 
use  of  his  Spanish  teacher. 

"Spain,  the  country  for  castles  in  the  air!"  I  cried. 
**  Perhaps  you  hope  it  may  mean  marriages  for  me  !  " 

For  sole  reply  he  honored  .me  with  a  meaning  look.  For 
some  days  he  has  amused  himself  with  teasing  me  at  lunch ; 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  179 

he  watches  me,  and  I  dissemble.  In  this  way  I  have  played 
with  him  cruelly  as  father  and  ambassador  in  peito.  Hadn't 
he  taken  me  for  a  fool  ?  He  asked  what  I  thought  of  this 
and  that  young  man,  and  of  some  girls  whom  I  had  met  in 
several  houses.  I  replied  with  quite  inane  remarks  on  the 
color  of  their  hair,  their  faces,  and  the  difference  in  their 
figures.  My  father  seemed  disappointed  at  my  crassness,  and 
inwardly  blamed  himself  for  having  asked  me. 

"  Still,  father,"  I  added,  "  don't  suppose  I  am  saying  what 
I  really  think :  mother  made  me  afraid  the  other  day  that  I 
had  spoken  more  frankly  than  I  ought  of  my  impressions." 

"  With  your  family  you  may  speak  quite  freely,"  my  mother 
replied. 

"Very  well,  then,"  I  went  on.  "The  young  men  I  have 
met  so  far  strike  me  as  too  self-interested  to  excite  interest  in 
others ;  they  are  much  more  taken  up  with  themselves  than 
with  their  company.  They  can't  be  accused  of  lack  of  candor 
at  any  rate.  They  put  on  a  certain  expression  to  talk  to  us, 
and  drop  it  again  in  a  moment,  apparently  satisfied  that  we 
doii't  use  our  eyes.  The  man  as  he  converses  is  the  lover; 
silent,  he  is  the  husband.  The  girls,  again,  are  so  artificial  that 
it  is  impossible  to  know  what  they  really  are,  except  from  the 
way  they  dance ;  their  figures  and  movements  alone  are  not  a 
sham.  But  what  has  alarmed  me  most  in  this  fashionable 
society  is  its  brutality.  The  little  incidents  which  take  place 
when  supper  is  announced  give  one  some  idea — to  compare 
small  things  with  great — of  what  a  popular  rising  might  be. 
Courtesy  is  only  a  thin  veneer  on  the  general  selfishness.  I 
imagined  society  very  different.  Women  count  for  little  in 
it;  that  may,  perhaps,  be  a  survival  of  Bonapartist  ideas." 

"  Armande  is  coming  on  extraordinarily,"  said  my  mother. 

"  Mother,  did  you  think  I  should  never  get  beyond  asking 
to  see  Mme.  de  Stael  ?  " 

My  father  smiled,  and  rose  from  the  table. 


180  LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES. 

'  Saturday. 

My  dear,  I  have  left  one  thing  out.  Here  is  the  titbit  I 
have  reserved  for  you.  The  love  which  we  pictured  must  be 
extremely  well  hidden  ;  I  have  not  seen  a  trace  of  it.  True, 
I  have  caught  in  drawing-roomas  now  and  again  a  quick  ex- 
change of  glances,  but  how  colorless  it  all  is  !  Love,  as  we 
imagined  it,  a  world  of  wonders,  of  glorious  dreams,  of  charm- 
ing realities,  of  sorrows  that  waken  sympathy,  and  smiles  that 
make  sunshine,  does  not  exist.  The  bewitching  words,  the 
constant  interchange  of  happiness,  the  misery  of  absence,  the 
flood  of  joy  at  the  presence  of  the  beloved  one — where  are 
they  ?  What  soil  produces  these  radiant  flowers  of  the  soul  ? 
Which  is  wrong?  Who  has  lied  to  us?  Ourselves  or  the 
world  ? 

I  have  already  seen  hundreds  of  men,  young  and  middle- 
aged  ;  not  one  has  stirred  the  least  feeling  in  me.  No  proof 
of  admiration  and  devotion  on  their  part,  not  even  a  sword 
drawn  in  my  behalf,  would  have  moved  me.  Love,  dear,  is 
the  product  of  such  rare  conditions  that  it  is  quite  possible 
to  live  a  lifetime  without  coming  across  the  being  on  whom 
nature  has  bestowed  the  power  of  making  one's  happiness. 
The  thought  is  enough  to  make  one  shudder ;  for  if  this  being 
is  found  too  late,  what  then  ? 

For  some  days  I  have  begun  to  tremble  when  I  think  of 
the  destiny  of  women,  and  to  understand  why  so  many  wear 
a  sad  face  beneath  the  flush  brought  by  the  unnatural  excite- 
ment of  social  dissipation.  Marriage  is  a  mere  matter  of 
chance.  Look  at  yours.  A  storm  of  wild  thoughts  has 
passed  over  my  mind.  To  be  loved  every  day  the  same,  yet 
with  a  difference,  to  be  loved  as  much  after  ten  years  of 
happiness  as  on  the  first  day !  such  a  love  demands  years. 
The  lover  must  be  allowed  to  languish,  curiosity  must  be 
piqued  and  satisfied,  feeling  aroused  and  responded  to. 

Is  there,  then,  a  law  for  the  inner  fruits  of  the  heart,  as 
there  is  for  the  visible  fruits  of  nature  ?     Can  joy  be  made 


LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES.  181 

lasting  ?  In  what  proportion  should  love  mingle  tears  with 
its  pleasures  ?  The  cold  policy  of  the  funereal,  monotonous, 
persistent  routine  of  the  convent  seemed  to  me  at  these  mo- 
ments the  only  real  life  \  while  the  wealth,  the  splendor,  the 
tears,  the  delights,  the  triumph,  the  joy,  the  satisfaction,  of 
a  love  equal,  shared,  and  sanctioned,  appeared  a  mere  idle 
vision. 

I  see  no  room  in  this  city  for  the  gentle  ways  of  love,  for 
precious  walks  in  shady  alleys,  the  full  moon  sparkling  on  the 
water,  while  the  suppliant  pleads  in  vain.  Rich,  young,  and 
beautiful,  I  have  only  to  love,  and  love  would  become  my 
sole  occupation,  my  life ;  yet  in  the  three  months  during 
which  I  have  come  and  gone,  eager  and  curious,  nothing  has 
appealed  to  me  in  the  bright,  covetous,  keen  eyes  around  me. 
No  voice  has  thrilled  me,  no  glance  has  made  the  world  seem 
brighter. 

Music  alone  has  filled  my  soul,  music  alone  has  at  all  taken 
the  place  of  our  friendship.  Sometimes,  at  night,  I  will 
linger  for  an  hour  by  my  window,  gazing  into  the  garden, 
summoning  the  future,  with  all  it  brings,  out  of  the  mystery 
which  shrouds  it.  There  are  days  too  when,  having  started 
for  a  drive,  I  get  out  and  walk  in  the  Champs-Elysees,  and 
picture  to  myself  that  the  man  who  is  to  waken  my  slumber- 
ing soul  is  at  hand,  that  he  will  follow  and  look  at  me.  Then 
I  meet  only  mountebanks,  vendors  of  gingerbread,  jugglers, 
passers-by  hurrying  to  their  business,  or  lovers  who  try  to 
escape  notice.  These  I  am  tempted  to  stop,  asking  them, 
"  You  who  are  happy,  tell  me,  what  is  love  ?  " 

But  the  impulse  is  repressed,  and  I  return  to  my  carriage, 
swearing  to  die  an  old  maid.  Love  is  undoubtedly  an  incar- 
nation, and  how  many  conditions  are  needful  before  it  can 
take  place  !  We  are  jiot  certain  of  never  quarreling  with 
ourselves,  how  much  less  so  when  there  are  two  ?  This  is  a 
problem  which  God  alone  can  solve. 

I  begin  to  think  that  I  shall  return  to  the  convent.     If  I 


182  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

remain  in  society,  I  shall  do  tilings  which  will  look  like 
follies,  for  I  cannot  possibly  reconcile  myself  to  what  I  see. 
I  am  perpetually  wounded  either  in  my  sense  of  delicacy,  my 
inner  principles,  or  my  secret  thoughts. 

Ah !  my  mother  is  the  happiest  of  women,  adored  as  she  is 
by  Canalis,  her  great  little  man.  My  love,  do  you  know  I 
am  seized  sometimes  with  a  horrible  craving  to  know  what 
goes  on  between  my  mother  and  that  young  man  ?  Griffith 
tells  me  she  has  gone  through  all  these  moods  ;  she  has  longed 
to  fly  at  women  whose  happiness  was  written  on  their  faces ; 
she  has  blackened  their  character,  torn  them  to  pieces. 
According  to  her,  virtue  consists  in  burying  all  these  savage 
instincts  in  one's  innermost  heart.  But  what  then  of  the 
heart  ?     It  becomes  the  sink  of  all  that  is  worst  in  us. 

It  is  very  humiliating  that  no  adorer  has  yet  turned  up  for 
me.  I  am  a  marriageable  girl,  but  I  have  brothers,  a  family, 
relations,  who  are  sensitive  on  the  point  of  honor.  Ah !  if 
that  is  what  keeps  men  back,  they  are  poltroons. 

The  part  of  Chimdne  in  the  *'  Cid  "  and  that  of  the  Cid 
captivate  me.     What  a  marvelous  play  !     Well,  good-by. 


VIII. 

THE   SAME   TO   THE  SAME. 

January. 
Our  teacher  is  a  poor  refugee,  forced  to  keep  in  hiding  on 
account  of  the  part  he  played  in  the  revolution  which  the 
Due  d'Angoulfime  has  just  quelled — a  triumph  to  which  we 
owe  some  splendid  fdtes.  Though  a  Liberal,  and  doubtless  a 
man  of  the  people,  he  has  awakened  my  interest :  I  fancy 
that  he  must  have  been  condemned  to  death.  I  make  him 
talk  for  the  purpose  of  getting  at  his*^ secret;  but  he  is  of  a 
truly  Castilian  taciturnity,  proud  as  though  he  were  Gonsalvo 
di  Cordova,   and   nevertheless  angelic  in  his  patience   and 


LETTERS    OF  TWO  BRIDES.  188 

gentleness.  His  pride  is  not  irritable  like  Miss  Griffith's,  it 
belongs  to  his  inner  nature  ;  he  forces  us  to  civility  because 
his  own  manners  are  so  perfect,  and  holds  us  at  a  distance  by 
the  respect  he  shows  us.  My  father  declares  that  there  is  a 
great  deal  of  the  nobleman  in  Sefior  Henarez,  whom,  among 
ourselves,  he  calls  in  fun  Don  Henarez. 

A  few  days  ago  I  took  the  liberty  of  addressing  him  thus. 
He  raised  his  eyes,  which  are  generally  bent  on  the  ground, 
and  flashed  a  look  from  them  that  quite  abashed  me ;  my  dear, 
he  certainly  has  the  most  beautiful  eyes  imaginable.  I  asked 
him  if  I  had  offended  him  in  any  way,  and  he  said  to  me 
in  his  grand,  rolling  Spanish' — 

"Mademoiselle,  I  am  here  only  to  teach  you  Spanish." 

I  blushed,  and  felt  quite  snubbed.  I  was  on  the  point  of 
making  some  pert  answer,  when  I  remembered  what  our  dear 
mother  in  God  used  to  say  to  us,  and  I  replied  instead — 

"  It  would  be  a  kindness  to  tell  me  if  you  have  anything  to 
complain  of." 

A  tremor  passed  through  him,  the  blood  rose  in  his  olive 
cheeks ;  he  replied  in  a  voice  of  some  emotion — 

"  Religion  must  have  taught  you,  better  than  I  can,  to 
respect  the  unhappy.  Had  I  been  a  don  in  Spain,  and  lost 
everything  in  the  triumph  of  Ferdinand  VII.,  your  witticism 
would  be  unkind ;  but  if  I  am  only  a  poor  teacher  of  lan- 
guages, is  it  not  a  heartless  satire?  Neither  is  worthy  of  a 
young  lady  of  rank." 

I  took  his  hand,  saying — 

"  In  the  name  of  religion  also,  I  beg  you  to  pardon  me." 

He  bowed,  opened  my  "  Don  Quixote,"  and  sat  down. 

This  little  incident  disturbed  me  more  than  the  harvest  of 
compliments,  gazing,  and  pretty  speeches  on  my  most  success- 
ful evening.  During  the  lesson  I  watched  him  attentively, 
which  I  could  do  the  more  safely,  as  he  never  looks  at  me. 

As  the  result  of  my  observations,  I  made  out  that  the  tutor, 
whom  we  took  to  be  forty,  is  a  young  man,  some  years  under 


184  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

thirty.  My  governess,  to  whom  I  had  handed  him  over, 
remarked  on  the  beauty  of  his  black  hair  and  of  his  pearly 
teeth.  As  to  his  eyes,  they  are  velvet  and  fire ;  but  here  ends 
the  catalogue  of  his  good  points.  Apart  from  this,  he  is 
plain  and  insignificant.  Though  the  Spaniards  have  been 
described  as  not  a  cleanly  people,  this  man  is  most  carefully 
rigged  up,  and  his  hands  are  whiter  than  his  face.  He  stoops 
a  little,  and  has  an  extremely  large,  oddly-shaped  head.  His 
ugliness,  which,  however,  has  a  dash  of  piquancy,  is  aggra- 
vated by  smallpox  marks,  which  seam  his  face.  His  fore- 
head is  very  prominent,  and  the  shaggy  eyebrows  meet, 
giving  a  repellent  air  of  harshness.  There  is  a  frowning, 
plaintive  look  on  his  face,  reminding  one  of  a  sickly  child, 
which  owes  its  life  to  superhuman  care,  as  Sister  Martha  did. 
As  my  father  observed,  his  features  are  a  shrunken  reproduction 
of  those  of  Cardinal  Ximenes.  The  natural  dignity  of  our 
tutor's  manners  seems  to  disconcert  the  dear  duke,  who 
doesn't  like  him,  and  is  never  at  ease  with  him  :  he  can't  bear 
to  come  in  contact  with  superiority  of  any  kind. 

As  soon  as  we  both  know  enough  Spanish,  we  start  for 
Madrid.  When  Henarez  returned,  two  days  after  the  reproof 
he  had  given  me,  I  remarked  by  way  of  showing  my 
gratitude — 

**  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  left  Spain  in  consequence  of 
political  events.  If  my  father  is  sent  there,  as  seems  to  be 
expected,  we  shall  be  in  a  position  to  help  you,  and  might  be 
able  to  obtain  your  pardon,  in  case  you  are  under  sentence." 

"  It  is  impossible  for  any  one  to  help  me,"  he  replied. 

"But,"  I  said,  "is  that  because  you  refuse  to  accept  any 
help,  or  because  the  thing  itself  is  impossible?  " 

"Both,"  he  said,  with  a  bow,  and  in  a  tone  which  forbade 
continuing  the  subject. 

My  father's  blood  chafed  in  my  veins.  I  was  offended  by 
this  haughty  demeanor,  and  promptly  dropped  Sefior  Henarez. 

All  the  same,  my  dear,  there  is  something  fine  in  this  rejec- 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  185 

tion  of  any  aid.  "  He  would  not  accept  even  our  friendship," 
I  reflected,  whilst -conjugating  a  verb.  Suddenly  I  stopped 
short  and  told  him  what  was  in  my  mind,  but  in  Spanish. 
Henarez  replied  very  politely  that  equality  of  sentiment 
was  necessary  between  friends,  which  did  not  exist  in  this 
case,  and  therefore  it  was  useless  to  consider  the  question. 

"  Do  you  mean  equality  in  the  amount  of  feeling  on  either 
side,  or  equality  in  rank?"  I  persisted,  determined  to  shake 
him  out  of  his  provoking  gravity. 

He  raised  once  more  those  awe-inspiring  eyes,  and  mine 
fell  before  them.  Dear,  this  man  is  a  hopeless  enigma.  He 
seemed  to  ask  whether  my  words  meant  love ;  and  the  mixture 
of  joy,  pride,  and  agonized  doubt  in  his  glance  went  to  my 
heart.  It  was  plain  that  advances,  which  would  be  taken  for 
what  they  were  worth  in  France,  might  land  me  in  difficulties 
with  a  Spaniard,  and  I  drew  back  into  my  shell,  feeling  not  a 
little  foolish. 

The  lesson  over,  he  bowed,  and  his  eyes  were  eloquent  of 
the  humble  prayer  :  "  Don't  trifle  with  a  poor  wretch." 

This  sudden  contrast  to  his  usual  grave  and  dignified  man- 
ner made  a  great  impression  on  me.  It  seems  horrible  to 
think  and  to  say,  but  I  can't  help  believing  that  there  are 
treasures  of  affection  in  that  man. 


IX. 

MME.    DE   L'eSTORADE    TO    MLLE.    DE   CHAULIEU. 

December. 
All  is  over,  my  dear  child,  and  it  is  Mme.  de  I'Estorade 
who  writes  you.     But  between  us  there  can  be  no  change ;  it 
is  only  a  girl  the  less. 

Don't  be  troubled  ;  I  did  not  give  my  consent  recklessly  or 
without  much  thought.  My  life  is  henceforth  mapped  out  for 
me,  and  the  freedom  from  all  uncertainty  as  to  the  road  to 


186  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

follow  suits  my  mind  and  disposition.  A  great  moral  power 
has  stepped  in,  and  once  for  all  swept  what  we  call  chance 
out  of  my  life.  We  have  the  property  to  develop,  our  home 
to  beautify  and  adorn  ;  for  ine  there  is  also  a  household  to 
direct  and  sweeten  and  a  husband  to  reconcile  to  life.  In 
all  probability  I  shall  have  a  family  to  look  after,  children  to 
educate. 

What  would  you  have  ?  Every-day  life  cannot  be  cast  in 
heroic  mould.  No  doubt  there  seems,  at  any  rate  at  first  sight, 
no  room  left  in  this  scheme  of  life  for  that  longing  after  the 
infinite  which  expands  the  mind  and  soul.  But  what  is  there 
to  prevent  me  from  launching  on  that  boundless  sea  our  familiar 
craft  ?  Nor  must  you  suppose  that  the  humble  duties  to  which 
I  dedicate  my  life  give  no  scope  for  passion.  To  restore  faith 
in  happiness  to  an  unfortunate,  who  has  been  the  sport  of  ad- 
verse circumstances,  is  a  noble  work,  and  one  which  alone 
may  suffice  to  relieve  the  monotony  of  my  existence,  I  can 
see  no  opening  left  for  suffering,  and  I  see  a  great  deal  of  good 
to  be  done.  I  need  not  hide  from  you  that  the  love  I  have  for 
Louis  de  I'Estorade  is  not  of  the  kind  which  makes  the  heart 
throb  at  the  sound  of  a  step,  and  thrills  us  at  the  lightest  tones 
of  a  voice,  or  the  caress  of  a  burning  glance ;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  there  is  nothing  in  him  which  offends  me. 

What  am  I  to  do,  you  will  ask,  with  that  instinct  for  all 
which  is  great  and  noble,  with  those  mental  energies,  which 
have  made  the  link  between  us  and  which  we  still  possess? 
I  admit  that  this  thought  has  troubled  me.  But  are  these 
faculties  less  ours  because  we  keep  them  concealed,  using  them 
only  in  secret  for  the  welfare  of  the  family,  as  instruments  to 
produce  the  happiness  of  those  confided  to  our  care,  to  whom 
we  are  bound  to  give  ourselves  without  reserve?  The  time 
during  which  a  woman  can  look  for  admiration  is  short,  it 
will  soon  be  past ;  and  if  my  life  has  not  been  a  great  one,  it 
will  at  least  have  been  calm,  tranquil,  free  from  shocks. 

Nature  has  favored  our  sex  in  giving  us  a  choice  between 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  187 

love  and  motherhood.    I  have  made  mine.     My  children  shall 
be  my  gods,  and  this  spot  of  earth  my  Eldorado. 

I  can  say  no  more  to-day.  Thank  you  much  for  all  the 
things  you  have  sent  me.  Give  a  glance  at  my  needs  on  the 
inclosed  list.  I  am  determined  to  live  in  an  atmosphere  of 
refinement  and  luxury,  and  to  take  from  provincial  life  only 
what  makes  its  charms.  In  solitude  a  woman  can  never  be 
vulgarized — she  remains  herself.  I  count  greatly  on  your 
kindness  for  keeping  me  up  to  the  fashion.  My  father-in-law 
is  so  delighted  that  he  can  refuse  me  nothing,  and  turns  his 
house  upside  down.  We  are  getting  workpeople  from  Paris 
and  renovating  everything. 

X. 

MLLE.    DE   CHAULIEU   TO  MME.    DE   l'eSTORADE. 

January. 

Oh  !  Renee,  you  have  made  me  miserable  for  days !  So 
that  bewitching  body,  those  beautiful  proud  features,  that 
natural  grace  of  manner,  that  soul  full  of  priceless  gifts,  those 
eyes,  where  the  soul  can  slake  its  thirst  as  at  a  fountain  of 
love,  that  heart  with  its  exquisite  delicacy,  that  breadth  of 
mind,  those  rare  powers — fruit  of  nature  and  of  our  inter- 
change of  thought — treasures  whence  should  issue  a  unique 
satisfaction  of  passion  and  desire,  hours  of  poetry  to  out- 
weigh years,  joys  to  make  a  man  serve  a  lifetime  for  one 
gracious  gesture — all  this  is  to  be  buried  in  the  tedium  of  a 
tame,  commonplace  marriage,  to  vanish  in  the  emptiness  of 
an  existence  which  you  will  come  to  loathe  !  I  hate  your 
children  before  they  are  born.     They  will  be  monsters ! 

So  you  know  all  that  lies  before  you ;  you  have  nothing 
left  to  hope,  or  fear,  or  suffer  ?  And  supposing  the  glorious 
morning  rises  which  will  bring  you  face  to  face  with  the  man 
destined  to  rouse  you  from  the  sleep  into  which  you  are  plung- 
ing !     Ah  !  a  cold  shiver  goes  through  me  at  the  thought. 


188  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

Well,  at  least  you  have  a  friend.  You,  it  is  understood, 
are  to  be  the  guardian  angel  of  your  valley.  You  will  grow 
familiar  with  its  beauties,  will  live  with  it  in  all  its  aspects, 
till  the  grandeur  of  nature,  the  slow  growth  of  vegetation, 
compared  with  the  lightning  rapidity  of  thought,  become  like 
a  part  of  yourself;  and  as  your  eye  rests  on  the  laughing 
flowers,  you  will  question  your  own  heart.  When  you  walk 
between  your  husband,  silent  and  contented,  in  front,  and 
your  children  screaming  and  romping  behind,  I  can  tell  you 
beforehand  what  you  will  write  to  me.  Your  misty  valley, 
your  hills,  bare  or  shaded  with  magnificent  trees,  your  meadow, 
the  wonder  of  Provence,  with  its  fresh  water  dispersed  in  little 
runlets,  the  different  effects  of  the  atmosphere,  this  whole 
world  of  infinity  which  laps  you  round,  and  which  God  has 
made  so  various,  will  recall  to  you  the  infinite  sameness  of 
your  soul's  life.  But  at  least  I  shall  be  there,  my  Ren6e,  and 
in  me  you  will  find  a  heart  which  no  social  pettiness  shall 
ever  corrupt,  a  heart  all  your  own. 

Monday. 

My  dear,  my  Spaniard  is  quite  adorably  melancholy;  there 
is  something  calm,  severe,  manly,  and  mysterious  about  him 
which  interests  me  profoundly.  His  unvarying  solemnity  and 
the  silence  which  envelops  him  act  like  an  irritant  on  the 
mind.  His  mute  dignity  is  worthy  of  a  fallen  king.  Griffith 
and  I  spend  our  time  over  him  as  though  he  were  a  riddle. 

How  odd  it  is !  A  language-master  captures  my  fancy  as 
no  other  man  has  done.  Yet  by  this  time  I  have  passed  in 
review  all  the  young  men  of  family,  the  attaches  to  embassies, 
and  the  ambassadors,  generals,  and  inferior  officers,  the  peers 
of  France,  their  sons  and  nephews,  the  Court,  and  the  town. 

The  coldness  of  the  man  provokes  me.  The  sandy  waste 
which  he  tries  to  place,  and  does  place,  between  us  is  covered 
by  his  deep-rooted  pride  ;  he  wraps  himself  in  mystery.  The 
hanging  back  is  on  his  side,  the  boldness  on  mine.  This  odd 
situation  affords  me  the  more  amusement  because  the  whole 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  189 

thing  is  mere  trifling.  What  is  a  man,  a  Spaniard,  and  a 
teacher  of  languages  to  me  ?  I  make  no  account  of  any  man 
whatever,  were  he  a  king.  We  are  worth  far  more,  I  am 
sure,  than  the  greatest  of  them.  What  a  slave  I  would  have 
made  of  Napoleon  !  If  he  had  loved  me,  shouldn't  he  have 
felt  the  whip  ! 

Yesterday  I  aimed  a  satirical  shaft  at  M.  Henarez  which 
must  have  touched  him  to  the  quick.  He  made  no  reply; 
the  lesson  was  over,  he  took  his  hat,  and  bowed  with  a  glance 
at  me,  in  which  I  read  that  he  would  never  return.  This  suits 
me  capitally ;  there  would  be  something  ominous  in  starting  an 
imitation  "  Nouvelle  Heloise."  I  have  just  been  reading 
Rousseau's,  and  it  has  left  me  with  a  strong  distaste  for  love. 
Passion  which  can  argue  and  moralize  seems  to  me  detestable. 
Clarissa  also  is  much  too  pleased  with  herself  and  her  long, 
little  letter;  but  Richardson's  work  is  an  admirable  picture, 
my  father  tells  me,  of  Englishwomen.  Rousseau's  seems  to 
me  a  sort  of  philosophical  sermon,  cast  in  the  form  of  letters. 

Love,  as  I  conceive  it,  is  a  purely  personal  poem.  In  all 
that  books  tell  us  about  it,  there  is  nothing  which  is  not  at 
once  false  and  true.  And  so,  my  pretty  one,  as  you  will 
henceforth  be  an  authority  only  on  conjugal  love,  it  seems  to 
me  my  duty — in  the  interest,  of  course,  of  our  common  life 
— to  remain  unmarried  and  have  a  grand  passion,  so  that  we 
may  enlarge  our  experience. 

Tell  me  every  detail  of  what  happens  to  you,  especially  in 
the  first  few  days,  with  that  strange  animal  called  a  husband. 
I  promise  to  do  the  same  for  you  if  ever  I  am  loved. 

Farewell,  poor,  dear,  gobbled-up,  martyred  darling. 


190  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 


XI. 

MME.    DE  L'ESTORADE  TO   MLLE.    DE   CHAULIEU. 

La  Crampade. 
You  and  your  Spaniard  make  me  shudder,  my  darling.  I 
write  this  line  to  beg  of  you  to  dismiss  him.  All  that  you 
say  of  him  corresponds  with  the  character  of  those  dangerous 
adventurers  who,  having  nothing  to  lose,  will  take  any  risk. 
This  man  cannot  be  your  husband,  and  must  not  be  your 
lover.  I  will  write  to  you  more  fully  about  the  inner  history 
of  my  married  life  when  my  heart  is  free  from  the  anxiety 
your  last  letter  has  caused  me. 

XII. 

MLLE.    DE   CHAULIEU   TO   MME.    DE   l'eSTORADE. 

February. 

At  nine  o'clock  this  morning,  sweetheart,  my  father  was 
announced  in  my  rooms.  I  was  up  and  dressed.  I  found 
him  solemnly  seated  beside  the  fire  in  the  drawing-room,  look- 
ing more  thoughtful  than  usual.  He  pointed  to  the  armchair 
opposite  him.  Divining  his  meaning,  I  sank  into  it  with  a 
gravity,  which  so  well  aped  his,  that  he  could  not  refrain  from 
smiling,  though  the  smile  was  dashed  with  melancholy. 

**  You  are  quite  a  match  for  your  grandmother  in  quick- 
wittedness,"  he  said. 

"Come,  father,  don't  play  the  courtier  here,"  I  replied; 
"you  want  something  from  me." 

He  rose,  visibly  agitated,  and  talked  to  me  for  half  an  hour. 
This  conversation,  dear,  really  ought  to  be  preserved.  As 
soon  as  he  had  gone,  I  sat  down  to  my  table  and  tried  to  re- 
call his  words.  This  is  the  first  time  that  I  have  seen  my  father 
repealing  his  inner  thoughts. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  191 

He  began  by  flattering  me,  and  he  did  not  do  it  badly.  I 
was  bound  to  be  grateful  to  him  for  having  understood  and 
appreciated  me. 

*' Armande,"  he  said,  "I  was  much  mistaken  in  you,  and 
you  have  agreeably  surprised  me.  When  you  arrived  from 
the  convent,  I  took  you  for  an  average  young  girl,  ignorant 
and  not  particularly  intelligent,  easily  to  be  bought  off  with 
trinkets  and  ornaments,  and  with  little  turn  for  reflection." 

**  You  are  complimentary  to  young  girls,  father." 

"Oh  !  there  is  no  such  thing  as  youth  nowadays,"  he  said, 
with  an  air  of  the  diplomat.  "  Your  mind  is  amazingly  open. 
You  take  everything  at  its  proper  worth ;  your  clear-sighted- 
ness is  extraordinary,  there  is  no  hoodwinking  you.  You  pass 
for  being  blind,  and  all  the  time  you  have  laid  your  hand  on 
causes,  while  other  people  are  still  puzzling  over  effects.  In 
short,  you  are  a  minister  in  petticoats,  the  only  person  here 
capable  of  understanding  me.  It  follows,  then,  that  if  I  have 
any  sacrifice  to  ask  from  you,  it  is  only  to  yourself  I  can  turn 
for  help  in  persuading  you. 

"I  am  therefore  going  to  explain  to  you,  quite  frankly,  my 
former  plans,  to  which  I  still  adhere.  In  order  to  recommend 
them  to  you,  I  must  show  that  they  are  connected  with  feel- 
ings of  a  very  high  order,  and  I  shall  thus  be  obliged  to  enter 
into  political  questions  of  the  greatest  importance  to  the 
kingdom,  which  might  be  wearisome  to  any  one  less  intelli- 
gent than  you  are.  When  you  have  heard  me,  I  hope  you 
will  take  time  for  consideration,  six  months  if  necessary. 
You  are  entirely  your  own  mistress;  and  if  you  decline  to 
make  the  sacrifice  I  ask,  I  shall  bow  to  your  decision  and 
trouble  you  no  further," 

This  preface,  my  sweet  dear,  made  me  really  serious,  and  I 
said — 

"Speak,  father." 

Here,  then,  is  the  deliverance  of  the  statesman  : 

**  My  child,  France  is  in  a  very  critical  position,  which  is 


192  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

understood  only  by  the  King  and  by  a  few  superior  minds. 
But  the  King  is  a  head  without  arms ;  the  great  nobles,  who 
are  in  the  secret  of  the  danger,  have  no  authority  over  the 
men  whose  cooperation  is  needful  in  order  to  bring  about  a 
happy  result.  These  men,  cast  up  by  popular  election,  re- 
fuse to  lend  themselves  as  instruments.  Even  the  able  men 
among  them  carry  on  the  work  of  pulling  down  society,  in- 
stead of  helping  us  to  strengthen  the  edifice. 

"In  a  word,  there  are  only  two  parties — the  party  of 
Marius  and  the  party  of  Sulla.  I  am  for  Sulla  against  Marius. 
This,  roughly  speaking,  is  our  position.  To  go  more  into 
details :  the  Revolution  is  still  active ;  it  is  imbedded  in  the 
law  and  written  on  the  soil;  it  fills  people's  minds.  The 
danger  is  all  the  greater  because  the  larger  number  of  the 
King's  counselors,  seeing  it  destitute  of  armed  forces  and  of 
money,  believe  it  completely  vanquished.  The  King  is  an 
able  man  and  not  easily  blinded ;  but  from  day  to  day  he  is 
won  over  by  his  brother's  partisans,  who  want  to  hurry  things 
on.  He  has  not  two  years  to  live,  and  thinks  more  of  a 
peaceful  death-bed  than  of  anything  else. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you,  my  child,  which  is  the  most  destructive 
of  all  the  consequences  entailed  by  the  Revolution  ?  You 
would  never  guess.  In  guillotining  Louis  XVI.  the  Revolu- 
tion decapitated  every  head  of  a  family.  The  Family  has 
caased  to  exist ;  we  have  only  individuals.  In  their  desire  to 
become  a  nation.  Frenchmen  have  abandoned  the  idea  of 
empire;  in  proclaiming  the  equal  rights  of  all  children  to 
their  father's  inheritance,  they  have  killed  Family  spirit  and 
have  created  the  State  treasury.  But  all  this  has  paved  the 
way  for  weakened  authority,  for  the  blind  force  of  the  masses, 
for  the  decay  of  art  and  the  supremacy  of  individual  interests, 
and  has  left  the  road  open  to  the  foreign  invader. 

"  We  stand  between  two  policies — either  to  found  the  State 
on  the  basis  of  the  Family,  or  to  rest  it  on  individual  interest 
— in  other  words,  between  democracy  and  aristocracy,  be- 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  193 

tween  free  discussion  and  obedience,  between  Catholicism 
and  religious  indifference.  I  am  among  the  few  who  are 
resolved  to  oppose  what  is  called  the  people,  and  that  in  the 
people's  true  interest.  It  is  not  now  a  question  of  feudal 
rights,  as  fools  are  told,  nor  of  rank ;  it  is  a  question  of  the 
State  and  of  the  existence  of  France.  The  country  which 
does  not  rest  on  the  foundation  of  paternal  authority  cannot 
be  stable.  That  is  the  foot  of  the  ladder  of  responsibility 
and  subordination,  which  has  for  its  summit  the  King. 

**  The  King  stands  for  us  all.  To  die  for  the  King  is  to  die 
for  one's  self,  for  one's  family,  which,  like  the  kingdom,  cannot 
die.  All  animals  have  certain  instincts;  the  instinct  of  man 
is  for  family  life.  A  country  is  strong  which  consists  of 
wealthy  families,  every  member  of  whom  is  interested  in 
defending  a  common  treasure  ;  it  is  weak  when  composed  of 
scattered  individuals,  to  whom  it  matters  little  whether  they 
obey  seven  or  one,  a  Russian  or  a  Corsican,  so  long  as  each 
keeps  his  own  plot  of  land,  blind,  in  their  wretched  egotism, 
to  the  fact  that  the  day  is  coming  when  this,  too,  will  be  torn 
from  them. 

"Terrible  calamities  are  in  store  for  us,  in  case  our  party 
fails.  Nothing  will  be  left  but  penal  or  fiscal  laws — your 
money  or  your  life.  The  most  generous  nation  on  the  earth 
will  have  ceased  to  obey  the  call  of  noble  instincts.  Wounds 
past  curing  will  have  been  fostered  and  aggravated,  an  all- 
pervading  jealousy  being  the  first.  Then  the  upper  classes 
will  be  submerged ;  equality  of  desire  will  be  taken  for 
equality  of  strength  ;  true  distinction,  even  when  proved  and 
recognized,  will  be  threatened  by  the  advancing  tide  of 
middle-class  prejudice.  It  was  possible  to  choose  one  man 
out  of  a  thousand,  but,  amongst  three  millions,  discrimination 
becomes  impossible,  when  all  are  moved  by  the  same  ambi- 
tions and  attired  in  the  same  livery  of  mediocrity.  No  fore- 
sight will  warn  this  victorious  horde  of  that  other  terrible 
horde,  soon  to  be  arrayed  against  them  in  the  peasant  propri- 
13 


194  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

etors;  in  other  words,  twenty  million  acres  of  land,  alive, 
stirring,  arguing,  deaf  to  reason,  insatiable  of  appetite, 
obstructing  progress,  masters  in  their  brute  force " 

**  But,"  said  I,  interrupting  my  father,  "  what  can  I  do  to 
help  the  State  ?  I  feel  no  vocation  for  playing  Joan  of  Arc 
in  the  interests  of  the  Family  or  for  finding  a  martyr's  stake 
in  a  convent." 

"You  are  a  little  hussy,"  cried  my  father.  "  If  I  speak 
sensibly  to  you,  you  are  full  of  jokes ;  when  I  jest,  you  talk 
like  an  ambassadress." 

"Love  lives  on  contradictions,"  was  my  reply. 

And  he  laughed  till  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes. 

"  You  will  reflect  on  what  I  have  told  you;  you  will  do 
justice  to  the  large  and  confiding  spirit  in  which  I  have 
broached  the  matter,  and  possibly  events  may  assist  my  plans. 
I  know  that,  so  far  as  you  are  concerned,  they  are  injurious 
and  unfair,  and  this  is  the  reason  why  I  appeal  for  your  sanc- 
tion of  them  less  to  your  heart  and  your  imagination  than  to 
your  reason.  I  have  found  more  judgment  and  commonsense 
in  you  than  in  any  one  I  know " 

"You  flatter  yourself,"  I  said,  with  a  smile,  "for  I  am 
every  inch  your  child  !  " 

"  In  short,"  he  went  on,  "  one  must  be  logical.  You  can't 
have  the  end  without  the  means,  and  it  is  our  duty  to  set  an 
example  to  others.  From  all  this  I  deduce  that  you  ought 
not  to  have  money  of  your  own  till  your  younger  brother  is 
provided  for,  and  I  want  to  employ  the  whole  of  your  inherit- 
ance in  purchasing  an  estate  for  him  to  go  with  the  title." 

"  But,"  I  said,  "you  won't  interfere  with  my  living  in  my 
own  fashion  and  enjoying  life  if  I  resign  you  my  fortune?" 

** Provided,"  he  replied,  "that  your  view  of  life  does  not 
conflict  with  the  family  honor,  reputation,  and,  I  may  add, 
glory." 

"Come,  come,"  I  cried,  "what  has  become  of  my 
excellent  judgment  ?  " 


LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES.  195 

** There  is  not  in  all  France,"  he  said,  with  bitterness,  "a 
man  who  would  take  for  wife  a  daughter  of  one  of  our  noblest 
families  without  a  dowry  and  bestow  one  on  her.  If  such  a 
husband  could  be  found,  it  would  be  among  the  class  of  rich 
parvenus;  on  this  point  I  belong  to  the  eleventh  century." 

"  And  I  also,"  I  said.  "But  why  despair?  Are  there  no 
aged  peers  ?  ' ' 

"  Louise  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  you  know  too  much." 

Then  he  left  me,  smiling  and  kissing  my  hand. 

I  received  your  letter  this  very  morning,  and  it  led  me  to  con- 
template that  abyss  into  which  you  say  that  I  may  fall.  A  voice 
within  seemed  to  utter  the  same  warning.  So  I  took  my  pre- 
'  cautions.  Henarez,  my  dear,  dares  to  look  at  me,  and  his 
eyes  are  disquieting.  They  inspire  me  with  what  I  can  only 
call  an  unreasoning  dread.  Such  a  man  ought  no  more  to  be 
looked  at  than  a  frog ;  he  is  ugly — and  fascinating. 

For  two  days  I  have  been  hesitating  whether  to  tell  my 
father  point-blank  that  I  want  no  more  Spanish  lessons  and 
have  Henarez  sent  about  his  business.  But  in  spite  of  all  my 
brave  resolutions,  I  feel  that  the  horrible  sensation  which 
comes  over  me  when  I  see  that  man  has  become  necessary  to 
me.     I  say  to  myself:  "Once  more,  and  then  I  will  speak." 

His  voice,  my  dear,  is  sweetly  thrilling ;  his  speaking  is 
just  like  la  Fodor's  singing.  His  manners  are  simple,  entirely 
free  from  affectation.     And  what  teeth  ! 

Just  now,  as  he  was  leaving,  he  seemed  to  divine  the  interest 
I  take  in  him,  and  made  a  gesture — oh  !  most  respectfully — 
as  though  to  take  my  hand  and  kiss  it ;  then  checked  himself, 
apparently  terrified  at  his  own  boldness  and  the  chasm  he 
had  been  on  the  point  of  bridging.  There  was  the  merest 
suggestion  of  all  this,  but  I  understood  it  and  smiled,  for 
nothing  is  more  pathetic  than  to  see  the  frank  impulse  of  an 
inferior  checking  itself  abashed.  The  love  of  a  plebeian  for 
a  girl  of  noble  birth  implies  such  courage  ! 

My  smile  emboldened  him.     The  poor  fellow  looked  blindly 


196  LETTERS   OF   TWO   BRIDES. 

about  for  his  hat;  he  seemed  de'termined  not  to  find  it,  and  I 
handed  it  to  him  with  prefect  gravity.  His  eyes  were  wet  with 
unshed  tears.  It  was  a  mere  passing  moment,  yet  a  world  of 
facts  and  ideas  were  contained  in  it.  We  understood  each 
other  so  well  that,  on  a  sudden,  I  held  out  my  hand  for  him 
to  kiss. 

Possibly  this  was  equivalent  to  telling  him  that  love  might 
bridge  the  interval  between  us.  Well,  I  cannot  tell  what 
moved  me  to  do  it.  Griffith  had  her  back  turned  as  I  proudly 
extended  my  little  white  paw.  I  felt  the  fire  of  his  lips, 
tempered  by  two  big  tears.  Oh  !  my  love,  I  lay  in  my  arm- 
chair, nerveless,  dreamy.  I  was  happy,  and  I  cannot  explain 
to  you  how  or  why.  What  I  felt  only  a  poet  could  express. 
My  condescension,  which  fills  me  with  shame  now,  seemed  to 
me  then  something  to  be  proud  of;  he  had  fascinated  me, 
that  is  my  one  excuse. 

Friday. 

This  man  is  really  very  handsome.  He  talks  admirably, 
and  has  remarkable  intellectual  power.  My  dear,  he  is  a  very 
Bossuet  in  force  and  persuasiveness  when  he  explains  the 
mechanism,  not  only  of  the  Spanish  tongue,  but  also  of 
human  thought  and  of  all  language.  His  mother  tongue 
seems  to  be  French.  When  I  expressed  surprise  at  this,  he 
replied  that  he  came  to  France  when  quite  a  boy,  following  the 
King  of  Spain  to  Valen^ay. 

What  has  passed  within  this  enigmatic  being?  He  is  no 
longer  the  same  man.  He  came,  dressed  quite  simply,  but 
just  as  any  gentleman  would  be  for  a  morning  walk.  He  put 
forth  all  his  eloquence,  and  flashed  wit,  like  rays  from  a 
beacon,  all  through  the  lesson.  Like  a  man  roused  from 
lethargy,  he  revealed  to  me  a  new  world  of  thoughts.  He 
told  me  the  story  of  some  poor  devil  of  a  valet  who  gave  up 
his  life  for  a  single  glance  from  a  queen  of  Spain. 

**  What  could  he  do  but  die  ?  "  I  exclaimed. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES.  197 

This  delighted  him,  and  he  looked  at  me  in  a  way  which 
was  truly  alarming. 

In  the  evening  I  went  to  a  ball  at  the  Duchesse  de  Lenon- 
court's.  The  Prince  de  Talleyrand  happened  to  be  there; 
and  I  got  M.  de  Vandenesse,  a  charming  young  man,  to  ask 
him  whether,  among  the  guests  at  his  country-place  in  1809, 
he  remembered  any  one  of  the  name  of  Henarcz.  Vandenesse 
reported  the  Prince's  reply,  word  for  word,  as  follows  : 

"  Henarez  is  the  Moorish  name  of  the  Soria  family,  who 
are,  they  say,  descendants  of  the  Abencerrages,  converted  to 
Christianity.  The  old  duke  and  his  two  sons  were  with  the 
King.  The  eldest,  the  present  Due  de  Soria,  has  just  had  all 
his  property,  titles,  and  dignities  confiscated  by  King  Ferdi- 
nand, who  in  this  way  avenges  a  long-standing  feud.  The 
duke  made  a  huge  mistake  in  consenting  to  form  a  constitu- 
tional ministry  with  Valdez.  Happily,  he  escaped  from  Cadiz 
before  the  arrival  of  the  Due  d'Angoulgme,  who,  with  the 
best  will  in  the  world,  could  not  have  saved  him  from  the 
King's  wrath." 

This  information  gave  me  much  food  for  reflection.  I  can- 
not describe  to  you  the  suspense  in  which  I  passed  the  time 
till  my  next  lesson,  which  took  place  this  morning. 

During  the  first  quarter  of  an  hour  I  examined  him  closely, 
debating  inwardly  whether  he  were  duke  or  commoner,  with- 
out being  able  to  come  to  any  conclusion.  He  seemed  to 
read  my  fancies  as  they  arose  and  to  take  pleasure  in  thwarting 
them.  At  last  I  could  endure  it  no  longer.  Putting  down 
my  book  suddenly,  I  broke  off  the  translation  I  was  making 
of  it  aloud,  and  said  to  him  in  Spanish : 

"You  are  deceiving  us.  You  are  no  poor  middle-class 
Liberal.     You  are  the  Due  de  Soria !  " 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  replied,  with  a  gesture  of  sorrow, 
"unhappily,  I  am  not  the  Due  de  Soria." 

I  felt  all  the  despair  with  which  he  uttered  the  word  "un- 
happily. ' '     Ah !  my  dear,  never  should  I  have  conceived  it 


198  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

possible  to  throw  so  much  meaning  and  passion  into  a  single 
word.  His  eyes  had  dropped,  and  he  dared  no  longer  look 
at  me. 

**  M.  de  Talleyrand,"  I  said,  "in  whose  house  you  spent 
your  years  of  exile,  declares  that  any  one  bearing  the  name 
of  H6narez  must  be  either  the  late  Due  de  Soria  or  a  lac- 
key." 

He  looked  at  me  with  eyes  like  two  black  burning  coals,  at 
once  blazing  and  ashamed.  The  man  might  have  been  in  the 
torture-chamber.     All  he  said  was : 

**  My  father  was  in  truth  a  servant  of  the  King  of  Spain." 

Griffith  could  make  nothing  of  this  sort  of  lesson.  An 
awkward  silence  followed  each  question  and  answer. 

•'In  one  word,"  I  said,  "  tell  me,  are  you  a  noble  or  bour- 
geoise?" 

"You  know,  mademoiselle,  that  in  Spain  even  beggars  are 
noble." 

This  reticence  provoked  me.  Since  the  last  lesson  I  had 
given  play  to  my  imagination  in  a  little  practical  joke.  I  had 
drawn  an  ideal  portrait  of  the  man  whom  I  should  wish  for 
my  lover  in  a  letter  which  I  designed  giving  him  to  trans- 
late. So  far,  I  had  only  put  Spanish  into  French,  not  French 
into  Spanish ;  I  pointed  this  out  to  him,  and  begged  Griffith 
to  bring  me  the  last  letter  I  had  received  from  a  friend  of 
mine. 

"I  shall  find  out,"  I  thought,  "from  the  effect  my  sketch 
has  on  him,  what  sort  of  blood  runs  in  his  veins." 

I  took  the  paper  from  Griffith's  hands,  saying — 

"  Let  me  see  if  I  have  copied  it  rightly." 

For  it  was  all  in  my  writing.  I  handed  him  the  paper,  or, 
if  }cu  will,  the  snare,  and  I  watched  him  while  he  read  as 
fol.ows-  • 

"  He  who  is  to  win  my  heart,  my  dear,  must  be  harsh  and 
unbending  with  men,  but  gentle  with  women.     His  eagle  eye 


LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES.  199 

must  have  power  to  quell  with  a  single  glance  the  least  ap- 
proach to  ridicule.  He  will  have  a  pitying  smile  for  those 
who  would  jeer  at  sacred  things,  above  all,  at  that  poetry  of 
the  heart,  without  which  life  would  be  but  a  dreary  common- 
place. I  have  the  greatest  scorn  for  those  who  would  rob  us 
of  the  living  fountain  of  religious  beliefs,  so  rich  in  solace. 
His  faith,  therefore,  should  have  the  simplicity  of  a  child, 
though  united  to  the  firm  conviction  of  an  intelligent  man, 
who  has  examined  the  foundations  of  his  creed.  His  fresh 
and  original  way  of  looking  at  things  must  be  entirely  free 
from  affectation  or  desire  to  show  off.  His  words  will  be  few 
and  fit,  and  his  mind  so  richly  stored,  that  he  cannot  possibly 
become  a  bore  to  himself  any  more  than  to  others. 

"All  his  thoughts  must  have  a  high  and  chivalrous  char- 
acter, without  alloy  of  self-seeking ;  while  his  actions  should 
be  marked  by  a  total  absence  of  interested  or  sordid  motives. 
Any  weak  points  he  may  have  will  arise  from  the  very  eleva- 
tion of  his  views  above  those  of  the  common  herd,  for  in 
every  respect  I  would  have  him  superior  to  his  age.  Ever 
mindful  of  the  delicate  attentions  due  to  the  weak,  he  will  be 
gentle  to  all  women,  but  not  prone  lightly  to  fall  in  love  with 
any;  for  love  will  seem  to  him  too  serious  to  turn  into  a 
game. 

"  Thus  it  might  happen  that  he  would  spend  his  life  in 
ignorance  of  true  love,  while  all  the  time  possessing  those 
qualities  most  fitted  to  inspire  it.  But  if  ever  he  find  the 
ideal  woman  who  has  haunted  his  waking  dreams,  if  he  meet 
with  a  nature  capable  of  understanding  his  own,  one  who 
could  fill  his  soul  and  pour  sunshine  over  his  life,  could  shine 
as  a  star  through  the  mists  of  this  chill  and  gloomy  world, 
lend  fresh  charm  to  existence,  and  draw  music  from  the  hith- 
erto silent  chords  of  his  being — needless  to  say,  he  would 
recognize  and  welcome  his  good  fortune. 

"  And  she,  too,  would  be  happy.  Never,  by  word  or  look, 
would  he  wound  the  tender  heart  which  abandoned  itself  to 


200  LETTERS   OF    TWO   BRIDES. 

him,  with  the  blind  trust  of  a  child  reposing  in  its  mother's 
arms.  For  were  the  vision  shattered,  it  would  be  the  wreck 
of  her  inner  life.  To  the  mighty  waters  of  love  she  would 
confide  her  all  ! 

"  The  man  I  picture  must  belong,  in  expression,  in  attitude, 
in  gait,  in  his  way  of  performing  alike  the  smallest  and  the 
greatest  actions,  to  that  race  of  the  truly  great  who  are  always 
simple  and  natural.  He  need  not  be  good-looking,  but  his 
hands  must  be  beautiful.  His  upper  lip  will  curl  with  a  care- 
less, ironical  smile  for  the  general  public,  whilst  he  reserves 
for  those  he  loves  the  heavenly,  radiant  glance  in  which  he 
puts  his  soul." 

"Will  mademoiselle  allow  me,"  he  said  in  Spanish,  in  a 
voice  full  of  agitation,  "to  keep  this  writing  in  memory  of 
her  ?  This  is  the  last  lesson  I  shall  have  the  honor  of  giving 
her,  and  that  which  I  have  just  received  in  these  words  may 
serve  me  for  an  abiding  rule  of  life.  I  left  Spain,  a  fugitive 
and  penniless,  but  I  have  to-day  received  from  my  family  a 
sum  sufficient  for  my  needs.  You  will  allow  me  to  send  some 
poor  Spaniard  in  my  place?" 

In  other  words,  he  seemed  to  me  to  say  :  "  This  little  game 
must  stop."  He  rose  with  an  air  of  marvelous  dignity,  and 
left  me  quite  upset  by  such  unheard-of  delicacy  in  a  man  of 
his  class.  He  went  downstairs  and  asked  to  speak  with  my 
father. 

At  dinner  my  father  said  to  me  with  a  smile — 

"  Louise,  you  have  been  learning  Spanish  from  an  ex- 
minister  and  a  man  condemned  to  death." 

"  The  Due  de  Soria,"  I  said. 

"  Duke  !  "  replied  my  father.  "  No,  he  is  not  that  any 
longer ;  he  takes  the  title  now  of  Baron  de  Macumer  from  a 
property  which  still  remains  to  him  in  Sardinia.  He  is  some- 
thing of  an  original,  I  think." 

"  Don't  brand  with  that  word,  which  with  you  always  im- 


LETTERS  OF   TWO   BRIDES.  201 

plies  some  mockery  and  scorn,  a  man  who  is  your  equal,  and 
who,  I  believe,  has  a  noble  nature." 

•' Baronne  de  Macumer?"  exclaimed  my  father,  with  a 
laughing  glance  at  me. 

Pride  kept  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  table. 

*'  But,"  said  my  mother,  "  Henarez  must  have  met  the 
Spanish  ambassador  on  the  steps  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  my  father,  "  the  ambassador  asked  me  if  I 
was  conspiring  against  the  King,  his  master ;  but  he  greeted 
the  ex-grandee  of  Spain  with  much  deference,  and  placed  his 
services  at  his  disposal." 

All  this,  dear  Mme.  de  I'Estorade,  happened  a  fortnight 
ago,  and  it  is  a  fortnight  now  since  I  have  seen  the  man  who 
loves  me,  for  that  he  loves  me  there  is  not  a  doubt.  What  is 
he  about  ?  If  only  I  were  a  fly,  or  a  mouse,  or  a  sparrow ! 
I  want  to  see  him  alone,  myself  unseen,  at  his  house.  Only 
think,  a  man  exists,  to  whom  I  can  say:  "  Go  and  die  for 
me  !  "  And  he  is  so  made  that  he  would  go,  at  least  I  think 
so.  Anyhow,  there  is  in  Paris  a  man  who  occupies  my 
thoughts,  and  whose  glance  pours  sunshine  into  my  soul.  Is 
not  such  a  man  an  enemy,  whom  I  ought  to  trample  under 
foot  ?  What  ?  There  is  a  man  who  has  become  necessary  to 
me — a  man  without  whom  I  don't  know  how  to  live?  You 
married,  and  I — in  love  !  Four  little  months,  and  those  two 
doves,  whose  wings  erst  bore  them  so  high,  have  fluttered 
down  upon  the  flat  stretches  of  real  life ! 

'  Sunday. 

Last  night,  at  the  Italian  opera,  I  could  feel  some  one  was 
looking  at  me  ;  my  eyes  were  drawn,  as  by  a  magnet,  to  two 
wells  of  fire,  gleaming  like  carbuncles  in  a  dim  corner  of  the 
orchestra.  Henarez  never  moved  his  eyes  from  me.  The 
wretch  had  discovered  the  one  spot  from  which  he  could  see 
me — and  there  he  was.  I  don't  know  what  he  may  be  as  a 
politician,  but  for  love  he  has  a  genius:  "Behold,  my  fair 


202  LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES. 

Ren6e,  where  our  business  now  stands,"  as  the  great  Comeille 
hath  said. 


XIII. 

MME.    DE  l'eSTORADE   TO   MLLE.    DE   CHAULIEU. 

La  Cram  fade,  February. 

My  dear  Louise: — I  was  bound  to  wait  some  time  before 
writing  you  ;  but  now  I  know,  or  rather  I  have  learned, 
many  things  which,  for  the  sake  of  your  future  happiness,  I 
must  tell  you.  The  difference  between  a  girl  and  a  married 
woman  is  so  vast  that  the  girl  can  no  more  comprehend  it 
than  the  married  woman  can  go  back  to  girlhood  again. 

I  chose  to  marry  Louis  de  I'Estorade  rather  than  return  to 
the  convent ;  that  at  least  is  plain.  So  soon  as  I  realized  that 
the  convent  was  the  only  alternative  to  marrying  Louis,  I  had, 
as  girls  say,  to  "submit,"  and  my  submission  once  made,  the 
next  thing  was  to  examine  the  situation  and  try  to  make  the 
best  of  it. 

The  serious  nature  of  what  I  was  undertaking  filled  me  at 
first  with  terror.  Marriage  is  a  matter  concerning  the  whole 
of  life,  whilst  love  aims  only  at  pleasure.  On  the  other  hand, 
marriage  will  remain  when  pleasures  have  vanished,  and  it  is 
the  source  of  interests  far  more  precious  than  those  of  the 
man  and  woman  entering  on  the  alliance.  Might  it  not, 
therefore,  be  that  the  only  requisite  for  a  happy  marriage  was 
friendship — a  friendship  which,  for  the  sake  of  these  advan- 
tages, would  shut  its  eyes  to  many  of  the  imperfections  of 
humanity?  Now  there  was  no  obstacle  to  the  existence  of 
friendship  between  myself  and  Louis  de  I'Estorade.  Having 
renounced  all  idea  of  finding  in  marriage  those  transports  of 
love  on  which  our  minds  used  so  often,  and  with  such  perilous 
rapture,  to  dwell,  I  found  a  gentle  calm  settling  over  me. 
**  If  debarred  from  love,  why  not  seek  for  happiness  ?  "  I  said 


LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES.  203 

to  myself.  "  Moreover,  I  am  loved,  and  the  love  offered  me 
I  shall  accept.  My  married  life  will  be  no  slavery,  but  rather 
a  perpetual  reign.  What  is  there  to  say  against  sucli  a  situa- 
tion for  a  woman  who  wishes  to  remain  absolute  mistress  of 
herself?" 

The  important  point  of  separating  marriage  from  marital 
rights  was  settled  in  a  conversation  between  Louis  and  me, 
in  the  course  of  which  he  gave  proof  of  an  excellent  temper 
and  a  tender  heart.  Darling,  my  desire  was  to  prolong  that 
fair  season  of  hope  which,  never  culminating  in  satisfaction, 
leaves  to  the  soul  its  virginity.  To  grant  nothing  to  duty  or 
the  law,  to  be  guided  entirely  by  one's  own  impulse,  retaining 
perfect  independence — what  could  be  more  attractive,  more 
honorable  ? 

A  contract  of  this  kind,  directly  opposed  to  the  legal  con- 
tract, and  even  to  the  sacrament  itself,  could  be  concluded 
only  between  Louis  and  me.  This  difficulty,  the  first  which 
has  arisen,  is  the  only  one  which  has  delayed  the  completion 
of  our  marriage.  Although,  at  first,  I  may  have  made  up  my 
mind  to  accept  anything  rather  than  return  to  the  convent,  it 
is  only  in  human  nature,  having  got  an  inch,  to  ask  for  an 
ell,  and  you  and  I,  sweet  love,  are  of  those  who  would  have  the 
whole. 

I  watched  Louis  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye,  and  put  it  to 
myself,  "  Has  suffering  had  a  softening  or  a  hardening  effect 
on  him  ?  "  By  dint  of  close  study,  I  arrived  at  the  conclusion 
that  his  love  amounted  to  a  passion.  Once  transformed  into 
an  idol,  whose  slightest  frown  would  turn  him  white  and 
trembling,  I  realized  that  I  might  venture  anything.  I  drew 
him  aside  in  the  most  natural  manner  on  solitary  walks,  dur- 
ing which  I  discreetly  sounded  his  feelings.  I  made  him 
talk,  and  got  him  to  expound  to  me  his  ideas  and  plans  for 
our  future.  My  questions  betrayed  so  many  preconceived 
notions,  and  went  so  straight  for  the  weak  points  in  this 
terrible  dual  existence,  that  Louis  has  since  confessed  to  me 


204  LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

the  alarm  it  caused  him  to  find  in  me  so  little  of  the  ignorant 
maiden. 

Then  I  listened  to  what  he  had  to  say  in  reply.  He  got 
mixed  up  in  his  arguments,  as  people  do  when  handicapped 
by  fear;  and  before  long  it  became  clear  that  chance  had 
given  me  for  adversary  one  who  was  the  less  fitted  for  the  con- 
test because  he  was  conscious  of  what  you  magniloquently  call 
my  ''greatness  of  soul."  Broken  by  sufferings  and  misfortune, 
he  looked  on  himself  as  a  sort  of  wreck,  and  three  fears  in 
especial  haunted  him : 

First,  we  are  aged  respectively  thirty-seven  and  seventeen ; 
and  he  could  not  contemplate  without  quaking  the  twenty 
years  that  divide  us.  In  the  next  place,  he  shares  our  views 
on  the  subject  of  my  beauty,  and  it  is  cruel  for  him  to  see  how 
the  hardships  of  his  life  have  robbed  him  of  youth.  Finally, 
he  felt  the  superiority  of  my  womanhood  over  his  manhood. 
The  consciousness  of  these  three  obvious  drawbacks  made  him 
distrustful  of  himself;  he  doubted  his  power  to  make  me 
happy,  and  guessed  that  he  had  been  chosen  as  the  lesser  of 
two  evils — -pis  aller. 

One  evening  he  tentatively  suggested  that  I  only  married 
him  to  escape  the  convent. 

"  I  cannot  deny  it,"  was  my  grave  reply. 

My  dear,  it  touched  me  to  the  heart  to  see  the  two  great 
tears  which  stood  in  his  eyes.  Never  before  had  I  experi- 
enced the  shock  of  emotion  which  a  man  can  impart  to  us. 

"  Louis,"  I  went  on,  as  kindly  as  I  could,  "  it  rests  entirely 
with  you  whether  this  marriage  of  convenience  becomes  one 
to  which  I  can  give  my  whole  heart.  The  favor  I  am  about 
to  ask  from  you  will  demand  self-abnegation  on  your  part,  far 
nobler  than  the  servitude  to  which  a  man's  love,  when  sincere, 
is  supposed  to  reduce  him.  The  question  is  :  Can  you  rise  to 
the  height  of  friendship  such  as  I  understand  it  ? 

"Life  gives  us  but  one  friend,  and  I  wish  to  be  yours. 
Friendship  is  the  bond  between  a  pair  of  kindred  souls,  united 


LETTERS   OF   TWO   BRIDES.  205 

in  their  strength,  and  yet  independent.  Let  us  be  friends 
and  comrades  to  bear  jointly  the  burden  of  life.  Leave  me 
absolutely  free.  I  would  put  no  hindrance  in  the  way  of  your 
inspiring  me  with  a  love  similar  to  your  own ;  but  I  am  de- 
termined to  be  yours  only  of  my  own  free  gift.  Create  in 
me  the  wish  to  give  up  my  freedom,  and  at  once  I  lay  it  at 
your  feet. 

"  Infuse  with  passion,  then,  if  you  will,  this  friendship,  and 
let  the  voice  of  love  disturb  its  calm.  On  my  part  I  will  do 
what  I  can  to  bring  my  feelings  into  accord  with  yours.  One 
thing,  above  all,  I  would  beg  of  you.  Spare  me  the  annoy- 
ances to  which  the  strangeness  of  our  mutual  position  might 
give  rise  in  our  relations  with  others.  I  am  neither  whimsical 
nor  prudish,  and  should  be  sorry  to  get  that  reputation ;  but  I 
feel  sure  that  I  can  trust  to  your  honor  when  I  ask  you  to  keep 
up  the  outward  appearance  of  wedded  life." 

Never,  dear,  have  I  seen  a  man  so  happy  as  my  proposal 
made  Louis.  The  blaze  of  joy  which  kindled  in  his  eyes 
dried  up  the  tears. 

"Do  not  fancy,"  I  concluded,  **  that  I  ask  this  from  any 
wish  to  be  eccentric.  It  is  the  great  desire  I  have  for  your 
respect  which  prompts  my  request.  If  you  owe  the  crown  of 
your  love  merely  to  the  legal  and  religious  ceremony,  what 
gratitude  could  you  feel  to  me  later  for  a  gift  in  which  my 
good-will  counted  for  nothing?  If  during  the  time  that  I  re- 
mained indifferent  to  you  (yielding  only  a  passive  obedience, 
such  as  my  mother  has  just  been  urging  on  me)  a  child  were 
born  to  us,  do  you  suppose  that  I  could  feel  toward  it  as  I 
would  toward  one  born  of  our  common  love?  A  passionate 
love  may  not  be  necessary  in  marriage,  but,  at  least,  you  will 
admit  that  there  should  be  no  repugnance.  Our  position  will 
not  be  without  its  dangers;  in  a  country  life,  such  as  ours  will 
be,  ought  we  not  to  bear  in  mind  the  evanescent  nature  of 
passion  ?  Is  it  not  simple  prudence  to  make  provision  before- 
hand against  the  calamities  incident  to  change  of  feeling?" 


206  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

He  was  greatly  astonished  to  find  me  at  once  so  reasonable 
and  so  apt  at  reasoning ;  but  he  made  me  a  solemn  promise, 
after  which  I  took  liis  hand  and  pressed  it  affectionately. 

We  were  married  at  the  end  of  the  week.  Secure  of  my 
freedom,  I  was  able  to  throw  myself  gaily  into  the  petty  details 
which  always  accompany  a  ceremony  of  the  kind,  and  to  be 
my  natural  self.  Perhaps  I  may  have  been  taken  for  an  "  old 
bird,"  as  they  say  at  Blois.  A  young  girl,  delighted  with  the 
novel  and  hopeful  situation  she  had  contrived  to  make  for 
herself,  may  have  passed  for  a  strong-minded  woman. 

Dear,  the  difficulties  which  would  beset  my  life  had  appeared 
to  me  clearly  as  in  a  vision,  and  I  was  sincerely  anxious  to 
make  the  happiness  of  the  man  I  had  married.  Now,  in  the 
solitude  of  a  life  like  ours,  marriage  soon  becomes  intolerable 
unless  the  woman  is  the  presiding  spirit.  A  woman  in  such 
a  case  needs  the  charm  of  a  mistress,  combined  with  the 
solid  qualities  of  a  wife.  To  introduce  an  element  of  uncer- 
tainty into  pleasure  is  to  prolong  illusion,  and  render  lasting 
those  selfish  satisfactions  which  all  creatures  hold,  and  justly 
hold,  so  precious.  Conjugal  love,  in  my  view  of  it,  should 
shroud  a  woman  in  expectancy,  crown  her  sovereign,  and 
invest  her  with  an  exhaustless  vital  force,  a  redundancy  of 
life,  that  makes  everything  blossom  around  her.  The  more 
she  is  mistress  of  herself,  the  more  certainly  will  the  love  and 
happiness  she  creates  be  fit  to  weather  the  storms  of  life. 

But,  above  all,  I  have  insisted  on  the  greatest  secrecy  in 
regard  to  our  domestic  arrangements.  A  husband  who  sub- 
mits to  his  wife's  yoke  is  justly  held  an  object  of  ridicule.  A 
woman's  influence  ought  to  be  entirely  concealed.  The  charm 
of  all  we  do  lies  in  its  unobtrusiveness.  If  I  have  made  it  my 
task  to  raise  a  drooping  courage  and  restore  their  natural 
brightness  to  gifts  which  I  have  dimly  descried,  it  must  all 
seem  to  spring  from  Louis  himself. 

Such  is  the  mission  to  which  I  dedicate  myself,  a  mission 
surely  not  ignoble,  and  which  might  well  satisfy  a  woman's 


LETTERS   OF   TWO   BRIDES.  207 

ambition.  Why,  I  could  glory  in  this  secret  which  shall  fill 
my  life  with  interest,  in  this  task  toward  which  my  every 
energy  shall  be  bent,  while  it  remains  concealed  from  all  but 
God  and  you. 

I  am  very  nearly  happy  now,  but  should  I  be  so  without  a 
friendly  heart  in  which  to  pour  this  confession  ?  For  how 
make  a  confidant  of  him  ?  My  happiness  would  wound  him, 
and  has  to  be  concealed.  He  is  sensitive  as  a  woman,  like 
all  men  who  have  suffered  much. 

For  three  months  we  remained  to  each  other  as  we  were 
before  marriage.  As  you  may  imagine,  during  this  time  I 
made  a  close  study  of  many  small  personal  matters,  which  have 
more  to  do  with  love  than  is  generally  supposed.  In  spite  of 
my  coldness,  Louis  grew  bolder,  and  his  nature  expanded.  I 
saw  on  his  face  a  new  expression,  a  look  of  youth.  The 
greater  refinement  which  I  introduced  into  the  house  was 
reflected  in  his  person.  Insensibly  I  became  accustomed  to 
his  presence,  and  made  another  self  of  him.  By  dint  of  con- 
stant watching  I  discovered  how  his  mind  and  countenance 
harmonize.  "The  animal  that  we  call  a  husband,"  to  quote 
your  words,  disappeared,  and  one  balmy  evening,  but  I  do 
not  well  remember  which,  I  discovered  in  his  stead  a  lover, 
whose  words  thrilled  me  and  on  whose  arm  I  leant  with 
pleasure  beyond  words.  In  short,  to  be  open  with  you,  as  I 
would  be  with  God,  before  whom  concealment  is  impossible, 
the  perfect  loyalty  with  which  he  had  kept  his  oath  may  have 
piqued  me,  and  I  felt  a  fluttering  of  curiosity  in  my  heart. 
Bitterly  ashamed,  I  struggled  with  myself.  Alas  !  when  pride 
is  the  only  motive  for  resistance,  excuses  for  capitulation  are 
soon  found. 

We  celebrated  our  union  in  secret,  and  secret  it  must  remain 
between  us.  Wiien  you  are  married  you  will  approve  this 
reserve.  Enough  that  nothing  was  lacking  either  of  satis- 
faction for  the  most  fastidious  sentiment,  or  of  that  unexpect- 
edness  which  brings,  in  a  sense,  its   own  sanction.     Every 


208  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

witchery  of  imagination,  of  passion,  of  reluctance  overcome, 
of  the  ideal  passing  into  reality,  played  its  part. 

Yet,  spite  of  all  this  enchantment,  I  once  more  stood  out 
for  my  complete  independence.  I  can't  tell  you  all  my 
reasons  for  this.  To  you  alone  shall  I  confide  even  as  much 
as  this.  I  believe  that  women,  whether  passionately  loved  or 
not,  lose  much  in  their  relation  with  their  husbands  by  not 
concealing  their  feelings  about  marriage  and  the  way  they 
look  at  it. 

My  one  joy,  and  it  is  supreme,  springs  from  the  certainty  of 
having  brought  new  life  to  my  husband  before  I  have  borne 
him  any  children.  Louis  has  regained  his  youth,  strength, 
and  spirits.  He  is  not  the  same  man.  With  magic  touch  I 
have  effaced  the  very  memory  of  his  sufferings.  It  is  a  com- 
plete metamorphosis.  Louis  is  really  very  attractive  now. 
Feeling  sure  of  my  affection,  he  throws  off  his  reserve  and  dis- 
plays unsuspected  gifts. 

To  be  the  unceasing  spring  of  happiness  for  a  man  who 
knows  it  and  adds  gratitude  to  love,  ah !  dear  one,  this  is 
a  conviction  which  fortifies  the  soul,  even  more  than  the 
most  passionate  love  can  do.  The  force  thus  developed — 
at  once  impetuous  and  enduring,  simple  and  diversified — 
brings  forth  ultimately  the  family,  that  noble  product  of 
womanhood,  which  I  realize  now  in  all  its  animating  beauty. 

The  old  father  has  ceased  to  be  a  miser.  He  gives  blindly 
whatever  I  wish  for.  The  servants  are  content;  it  seems  as 
though  the  bliss  of  Louis  had  let  a  flood  of  sunshine  into 
the  household,  where  love  has  made  me  queen.  Even  the 
old  man  would  not  be  a  blot  upon  my  pretty  home,  and 
has  brought  himself  into  line  with  all  my  improvements  ; 
to  please  me  he  has  adopted  the  dress,  and  with  the  dress, 
the  manners  of  the  day. 

We  have  English  horses,  a  coup6,  a  barouche,  and  a  til- 
bury. The  livery  of  our  servants  is  simple  but  in  good  taste. 
Of  course  we  are  looked  on  as  spendthrifts.     I  apply  all  my 


LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES.  209 

intellect  (I  am  speaking  quite  seriously)  to  managing  my 
household  with  economy,  and  obtaining  for  it  the  maximum 
of  pleasure  with  the  minimum  of  cost. 

I  have  already  convinced  Louis  of  the  necessity  of  making 
roads,  in  order  that  he  may  earn  the  reputation  of  a  man  in- 
terested in  the  welfare  of  his  district.  I  insist  too  on  his  study- 
ing a  great  deal.  Before  long  I  hope  to  see  him  a  member  of 
the  Council  General  of  the  department,  through  the  influence 
of  my  family  and  his  mother's.  I  have  told  him  plainly  that 
I  am  ambitious,  and  that  I  was  very  well  pleased  his  father 
should  continue  to  look  after  the  estate  and  practice  economies, 
because  I  wished  him  to  devote  himself  exclusively  to  politics. 
If  we  had  children,  I  should  like  to  see  them  all  prosperous 
and  with  good  State  appointments.  Under  penalty,  therefore, 
of  forfeiting  my  esteem  and  affection,  he  must  get  himself 
chosen  deputy  for  the  department  at  the  coming  elections;  my 
family  would  support  his  candidature,  and  we  should  then 
have  the  delight  of  spending  all  our  winters  in  Paris.  Ah  ! 
my  love,  by  the  ardor  with  which  he  embraced  my  plans,  I 
can  gauge  the  depth  of  his  affection. 

To  conclude,  here  is  a  letter  he  wrote  me  yesterday  from 
Marseilles,  where  he  had  gone  to  spend  a  few  hours : 

"  My  sweet  Renee: — When  you  gave  me  permission  to  love 
you,  I  began  to  believe  in  happiness ;  now,  I  see  it  unfolding 
endlessly  before  me.  The  past  is  merely  a  dim  memory,  a 
shadowy  background,  without  which  my  present  bliss  would 
show  less  radiant.  When  I  am  with  you,  love  so  transports 
me  that  I  am  powerless  to  express  the  depth  of  my  affection ; 
I  can  but  worship  and  admire.  Only  at  a  distance  does  the 
power  of  speech  return.  You  are  supremely  beautiful,  Ren6e, 
and  your  beauty  is  of  the  statuesque  and  regal  type,  on  which 
time  leaves  but  little  impression.  No  doubt  the  love  of  hus- 
band and  wife  depends  less  on  outward  beauty  than  on  graces 
of  character,  which  are  yours  also  in  perfection ;  still,  let  me 
14 


210  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

say  that  the  certainty  of  having  your  unchanging  beauty,  on 
which  to  feast  my  eyes,  gives  me  a  joy  that  grows  with  every 
glance.  There  is  a  grace  and  dignity  in  the  lines  of  your  face, 
expressive  of  the  noble  soul  within,  and  breathing  of  purity 
beneath  the  vivid  coloring.  The  brilliance  of  your  dark  eyes, 
the  bold  sweep  of  your  forehead,  declare  a  spirit  of  no  common 
elevation,  sound  and  trustworthy  in  every  relation,  and  well 
braced  to  meet  the  storms  of  life,  should  such  arise.  The 
keynote  of  your  character  is  its  freedom  from  all  pettiness. 
You  do  not  need  to  be  told  all  this ;  but  I  will  write  it  because 
I  would  have  you  know  that  I  appreciate  the  treasure  I  pos- 
sess. Your  favors  to  me,  however  slight,  will  always  make 
my  happiness  in  the  far  distant  future  as  now ;  for  I  am  sen- 
sible how  much  dignity  there  is  in  our  promise  to  respect  each 
other's  liberty.  Our  own  impulse  shall  with  us  alone  dictate 
the  expression  of  feeling.  We  shall  be  free  even  in  our 
fetters.  I  shall  have  the  more  pride  in  wooing  you  again  now 
that  I  know  the  reward  you  place  on  victory.  You  cannot 
speak,  breathe,  act,  or  think,  without  adding  to  the  admira- 
tion I  feel  for  your  charm  both  of  body  and  mind.  There  is 
in  you  a  rare  combination  of  the  ideal,  the  practical,  and  the 
bewitching  which  satisfies  alike  judgment,  a  husband's  pride, 
desire,  and  hope,  and  which  extends  the  boundaries  of  love 
beyond  those  of  life  itself.  Oh  !  my  loved  one,  may  the 
genius  of  love  remain  faithful  to  me,  and  the  future  be  full  of 
those  delights  by  means  of  which  you  have  glorified  all  that 
surrounds  me !  I  long  for  the  day  which  shall  make  you  a 
mother,  that  I  may  see  you  content  with  the  fullness  of  your 
life,  may  hear  you,  in  the  sweet  voice  I  love  and  with  the 
words  that  so  marvelously  express  your  subtle  and  original 
thoughts,  bless  the  love  which  has  refreshed  my  soul  and 
given  new  vigor  to  my  powers,  the  love  which  is  my 
pride,  and  whence  I  have  drawn,  as  from  a  magic  fountain, 
fresh  life.  Yes,  I  shall  be  all  that  you  would  have  me.  I 
shall  take  a  leading  part  in  the  public  life  of  the  district,  and 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  211 

on  you  shall  fall  the  rays  of  a  glory  which  will  owe  its  exist- 
ence to  the  desire  of  pleasing  you." 

So  much  for  my  pupil,  dear  !  Do  you  suppose  he  could 
have  written  like  this  before  ?  A  year  hence  his  style 
will  have  still  further  improved.  Louis  is  now  in  his  first 
transport ;  what  I  look  forward  to  is  the  uniform  and  contin- 
uous sensation  of  content  which  ought  to  be  the  fruit  of  a 
happy  marriage,  when  a  man  and  woman,  in  perfect  trust  and 
mutual  knowledge,  have  solved  the  problem  of  giving  variety 
to  the  infinite.  This  is  the  task  set  before  every  true  wife ; 
the  answer  begins  to  dawn  on  me,  and  I  shall  not  rest  till  I 
have  made  it  mine. 

You  see  that  he  fancies  himself — vanity  of  men  ! — the  chosen 
of  my  heart,  just  as  though  he  were  not  my  husband.  Never- 
theless, I  have  not  yet  got  beyond  that  external  attraction 
which  gives  us  strength  to  put  up  with  a  good  deal.  Yet 
Louis  is  lovable ;  his  temper  is  wonderfully  even,  and  he  per- 
forms, as  a  matter  of  course,  acts  on  which  most  men  would 
plume  themselves.  In  short,  if  I  do  not  love  him,  I  shall 
find  no  difficulty  in  being  good  to  him. 

So  here  are  my  black  hair  and  my  black  eyes — whose  lashes 
act,  according  to  you,  like  Venetian  blinds — my  commanding 
air,  and  my  whole  person,  raised  to  the  rank  of  sovereign 
power  !  Ten  years  hence,  dear,  why  should  we  not  both  be 
laughing  and  gay  in  your  Paris,  whence  I  shall  carry  you  off 
now  and  again  to  my  beautiful  oasis  in  Provence  ? 

Oh  !  Louise,  don't  spoil  the  splendid  future  which  awaits 
us  both  !  Don't  do  the  mad  things  with  which  you  threaten 
me.  My  husband  is  a  young  man,  prematurely  old ;  why 
don't  you  marry  some  young-hearted  graybeard  in  the 
Chamber  of  Peers?  There  lies  your  vocation — but  that 
Spaniard  ?  oh,  no  ! 


212  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 


XIV. 

THE   Due   DE   SORIA   TO   THE   BARON  DE   MACUMER. 

Madrid. 

My  dear  Brother  : — You  did  not  make  me  Due  de  Soria 
in  order  that  my  actions  should  belie  the  name.  How  could 
I  tolerate  my  happiness  if  I  knew  you  to  be  a  wanderer,  de- 
prived of  the  comforts  which  wealth  everywhere  commands  ? 
Neither  Marie  nor  I  will  consent  to  marry  till  we  hear  that 
you  have  accepted  the  money  which  Urraca  will  hand  over  to 
you.  These  two  millions  are  the  fruit  of  your  own  savings 
and  Marie's. 

We  have  both  prayed,  kneeling  before  the  same  altar — and 
with  what  earnestness,  God  knows ! — for  your  happiness. 
My  dear  brother,  it  cannot  be  that  these  prayers  will  remain 
unanswered.  Heaven  will  send  you  the  love  which  you  seek, 
to  be  the  consolation  of  your  exile.  Marie  read  your  letter 
with  tears,  and  is  full  of  admiration  for  you.  As  for  me,  I 
consent,  not  for  my  own  sake,  but  for  that  of  the  family. 
The  King  justified  your  expectations.  Oh  !  that  I  might 
avenge  you  by  letting  him  see  himself,  dwarfed  before  the 
scorn  with  which  you  flung  him  his  toy,  as  you  might  toss  a 
tiger  its  food. 

The  only  thing  I  have  taken  for  myself,  dear  brother,  is 
my  happiness.  I  have  taken  Marie.  For  this  I  shall  always 
be  beholden  to  you,  as  the  creature  to  the  Creator.  There 
will  be  in  my  life  and  in  Marie's  one  day  not  less  glorious 
than  our  wedding-day — it  will  be  the  day  when  we  hear  that 
your  heart  has  found  its  mate,  that  a  woman  loves  you  as  you 
ought  to  be,  and  deserve  to  be,  loved.  Do  not  forget  that  if 
you  live  for  us,  we  also  live  for  you. 

You  can  write  us  with  perfect  confidence  under  cover  to  the 
nnncio,  sending  your  letters  via  Rome.     The  French  ambas- 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  218 

sador  at  Rome  will,  no  doubt,  undertake  to  forward  them  to 
the  Seignor  Bemboni,  at  the  State  Secretary's  office,  whom 
our  legate  will  have  advised.  No  other  way  should  be  safe. 
Farewell,  dear  exile,  dear  despoiled  one.  Be  proud  at  least 
of  the  happiness  which  you  have  brought  to  us,  if  you  cannot 
be  happy  in  it.  God  will  doubtless  hear  our  prayers,  which 
are  full  of  your  name.  Fernando. 


XV. 

LOUISE   DE  CHAULIEU   TO   MME.    DE   l'eSTORADE. 

March. 

Ah  !  my  angel,  marriage  is  making  a  philosopher  of  you  ! 
Your  darling  face  must,  indeed,  have  been  jaundiced  when 
you  wrote  me  those  terrible  views  of  human  life  and  the 
duty  of  women.  Do  you  fancy  you  will  convert  me  to  matri- 
mony by  your  programme  of  subterranean  labors? 

Alas  !  is  this  then  the  outcome  for  you  of  our  too-instructed 
dreams!  We  left  Bloisall  innocent,  armed  with  the  pointed  shafts 
of  meditation,  and,  lo  !  the  weapons  of  that  purely  ideal  experi- 
ence have  turned  against  your  own  breast !  If  I  did  not 
know  you  for  the  purest  and  most  angelic  of  created  beings,  I 
declare  I  should  say  that  your  calculations  actually  smack  of 
vice.  What,  my  dear,  in  the  interest  of  your  country  home, 
you  submit  your  pleasures  to  a  periodic  thinning,  as  you  do 
your  timber.  Oh  !  rather  let  me  perish  in  all  the  violence  of 
the  heart's  storms  than  live  in  the  arid  atmosphere  of  your 
cautious  arithmetic  ! 

As  girls,  we  were  both  unusually  enlightened,  because  of  the 
large  amount  of  study  we  gave  to  our  chosen  subjects ;  but, 
my  child,  philosophy  without  love,  or  disguised  under  a  sham 
love,  is  the  most  hideous  of  conjugal  hypocrisies.  I  should 
imagine  that  even  the  biggest  of  fools  might  detect  now  and 
again  the  owl  of  wisdom  squatting  in  your  bower  of  roses — 


214  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

a  ghastly  phantom  sufficient  to  put  to  flight  the  most  promising 
of  passions.  You  make  your  own  fate,  instead  of  waiting,  a 
plaything  in  its  hands. 

We  are  each  developing  in  strange  ways.  A  large  dose  of 
philosophy  to  a  grain  of  love  is  your  recipe ;  a  large  dose  of 
love  to  a  grain  of  philosophy  is  mine.  Why,  Rousseau's 
Julie,  whom  I  thought  so  pedantic,  is  a  mere  beginner  to  you. 
Woman's  virtue,  quotha !  How  you  have  weighed  up  life ! 
Alas  !  I  make  fun  of  you,  and,  after  all,  perhaps  you  are  right. 

In  one  day  you  have  made  a  holocaust  of  your  youth  and 
become  a  miser  before  your  time.  Your  Louis  will  be  happy, 
I  daresay.  If  he  loves  you,  of  which  I  make  no  doubt,  he 
will  never  find  out,  that,  for  the  sake  of  your  family,  you  are 
acting  as  a  courtesan  does  for  money ;  and  certainly  men  seem 
to  find  happiness  with  them,  judging  by  the  fortunes  they  thus 
squander.  A  keen-sighted  husband  might  no  doubt  remain  in 
love  with  you,  but  what  sort  of  gratitude  could  he  feel  in  the 
long  run  for  a  woman  who  had  made  of  duplicity  a  sort  of 
necessary  moral  armor,  as  indispensable  as  her  corsets  ? 

Love,  dear,  is  in  my  eyes  the  first  principle  of  all  the 
virtues,  conformed  to  the  divine  likeness.  Like  all  other 
first  principles,  it  is  not  a  matter  of  arithmetic  ;  it  is  the 
Infinite  in  us.  I  cannot  but  think  you  have  been  trying  to 
justify  in  your  own  eyes  the  frightful  position  of  a  girl,  married 
to  a  man  for  whom  she  feels  nothing  more  than  esteem.  You 
prate  of  duty,  and  make  it  your  rule  and  measure ;  but  surely 
to  take  necessity  as  the  spring  of  action  is  the  moral  theory  of 
atheism  ?  To  follow  the  impulse  of  love  and  feeling  is  the 
secret  law  of  every  woman's  heart.  You  are  acting  a  man's 
part,  and  your  Louis  will  have  to  play  the  woman  ! 

Oh  !  my  dear,  your  letter  has  plunged  me  into  an  endless 
train  of  thought.  I  see  now  that  the  convent  can  never  take 
the  place  of  mother  to  a  girl.  I  beg  of  you,  my  grand  angel 
with  the  black  eyes,  so  pure  and  proud,  so  serious  and  so 
pretty,  do  not  turn  away  from  these  cries,  which  the  first 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  216 

reading  of  your  letter  has  torn  from  me  !  I  have  taken  com- 
fort in  the  thought  that,  while  I  was  lamenting,  love  was 
doubtless  busy  knocking  down  the  scaffolding  of  reason. 

It  may  be  that  I  shall  do  worse  than  you  without  any  reason- 
ing or  calculations.  Passion  is  an  element  in  life  bound  to 
have  a  logic  not  less  pitiless  than  yours. 

Monday. 

Yesterday  night  I  placed  myself  at  the  window  as  I  was 
going  to  bed,  to  look  at  the  sky,  which  was  wonderfully  clear. 
The  stars  were  like  silver  nails,  holding  up  a  veil  of  blue.  In 
the  silence  of  the  night  I  could  hear  some  one  breathing,  and 
by  the  half-light  of  the  stars  I  saw  my  Spaniard,  perched  like 
a  squirrel  on  the  branches  of  one  of  the  trees  lining  the  boule- 
vard, and  doubtless  lost  in  admiration  of  my  windows. 

The  first  effect  of  this  discovery  was  to  make  me  withdraw 
into  the  room,  my  feet  and  hands  quite  limp  and  nerveless ; 
but,  beneath  the  fear,  I  was  conscious  of  a  delicious  under- 
current of  joy.  I  was  overpowered  but  happy.  Not  one  of 
those  clever  Frenchmen,  who  aspire  to  marry  me,  has  had 
the  brilliant  idea  of  spending  the  night  in  an  elm-tree  at  the 
risk  of  being  carried  off  by  the  watch.  My  Spaniard  has,  no 
doubt,  been  there  for  some  time.  Ah  !  he  won't  give  me  any 
more  lessons,  he  wants  to  receive  them — well,  he  shall  have 
one.  If  only  he  knew  what  I  said  to  myself  about  his  super- 
ficial ugliness !  Others  can  philosophize  beside  you,  Renee  ! 
It  was  horrid,  I  argued,  to  fall  in  love  with  a  handsome  man. 
Is  it  not  practically  avowing  that  the  senses  count  for  three 
parts  out  of  four  in  a  genuine  passion  which  ought  to  be  super- 
sensual  ? 

Having  got  over  my  first  alarm,  I  craned  my  neck  behind 
the  window  in  order  to  see  him  again — and  well  was  I  re- 
warded !  By  means  of  a  hollow  cane  he  blew  me  in  through 
the  window  a  letter,  cunningly  rolled  round  a  leaden  pellet. 

Good  heavens  !  will  he  suppose  I  left  the  window  open  on 
purpose  ? 


216  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

But  what  was  to  be  done?  To  shut  it  suddenly  would  be 
to  make  one's  self  an  accomplice. 

I  did  better,  I  returned  to  my  window  as  though  I  had  seen 
nothing  and  heard  nothing  of  the  letter,  then  I  said  aloud — 

*'  Come  and  look  at  the  stars,  Griffith." 

Griffith  was  sleeping  as  only  old  maids  can.  But  the  Moor, 
hearing  me,  slid  down,  and  vanished  with  ghostly  rapidity. 

He  must  have  been  dying  of  fright,  and  so  was  I,  for  I  did 
not  hear  him  go  away ;  apparently  he  remained  at  the  foot  of 
the  elm.  After  a  good  quarter  of  an  hour,  during  which  I 
lost  myself  in  contemplation  of  the  heavens,  and  battled  with 
the  waves  of  curiosity,  I  closed  my  window  and  sat  down  on 
the  bed  to  unfold  the  delicate  bit  of  paper,  with  the  tender 
touch  of  a  worker  amongst  the  ancient  manuscripts  at  Naples. 
It  felt  redhot  to  my  fingers.  "What  a  horrible  power  this 
man  has  over  me  !  "  I  said  to  myself. 

All  at  once  I  held  out  the  paper  to  the  candle — I  would 
burn  it  without  reading  a  word.  Then  a  thought  stayed  me, 
**  What  can  he  have  to  say  that  he  writes  so  secretly?"  Well, 
dear,  I  did  burn  it,  reflecting  that,  though  any  other  girl  in 
the  world  would  have  devoured  the  letter,  it  was  not  fitting 
that  I — Armande-Louise-Marie  de  Chaulieu — should  read  it. 

The  next  day,  at  the  Italian  opera,  he  was  at  his  post.  But 
I  feel  sure  that,  ex-prime  minister  of  a  constitutional  govern- 
ment though  he  is,  he  could  not  discover  the  slightest  agitation 
of  mind  in  any  movement  of  mine.  I  might  have  seen  nothing 
and  received  nothing  the  evening  before.  This  was  most 
satisfactory  to  me,  but  he  looked  very  sad.  Poor  man  !  in 
Spain  it  is  so  natural  for  love  to  come  in  at  the  window ! 
During  the  interval,  it  seems,  he  came  and  walked  in  the  pas- 
sages. This  I  learned  from  the  chief  secretary  of  the  Spanish 
embassy,  who  also  told  the  story  of  a  noble  action  of  his. 

As  Due  de  Soria  he  was  to  marry  one  of  the  richest  heiresses 
in  Spain,  the  young  princess,  Marie  Her^dia,  whose  wealth 
would  have  mitigated  the  bitterness  of  exile.     But  it  seems 


LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES.  217 

that  Marie,  disappointing  the  wishes  of  the  fathers,  who  had 
betrothed  them  in  their  earliest  childhood,  loved  the  younger 
son  of  the  house  of  Soria,  to  whom  my  Felipe  gave  her  up, 
allowing  himself  to  be  despoiled  for  his  younger  brother  by 
the  King  of  Spain. 

"  He  would  perform  this  piece  of  heroism  quite  simply,"  I 
said  to  the  young  man. 

"  You  know  him  then  ?  "  was  his  ingenuous  reply. 

My  mother  smiled. 

"What  will  become  of  him,  for  he  is  condemned  to 
death?"  I  asked. 

"Though  dead  to  Spain,  he  can  live  in  Sardinia." 

"Ah!  then  Spain  is  the  country  of  tombs  as  well  as 
castles?  "  I  said,  trying  to  carry  it  off  as  a  joke. 

"There  is  everything  in  Spain,  even  Spaniards  of  the  old 
school,"  my  mother  replied. 

"  The  Baron  de  Macumer  obtained  a  passport,  not  without 
difficulty,  from  the  King  of  Sardinia,"  the  young  diplomatist 
went  on.  "  He  has  now  become  a  Sardinian  subject,  and  he 
possesses  a  magnificent  estate  in  the  island  with  full  feudal 
rights.  He  has  a  palace  at  Sassari.  If  Ferdinand  VII.  were 
to  die,  Macumer  would  probably  go  in  for  diplomacy,  and  the 
Court  of  Turin  would  make  him  ambassador.  Though  young, 
he  is " 

"Ah  !  he  is  young?" 

"Certainly,  mademoiselle — though  young,  he  is  one  of  the 
most  distinguished  men  in  Spain." 

I  scanned  the  house  meanwhile  through  ray  opera-glass,  and 
seemed  to  lend  an  inattentive  ear  to  the  secretary;  but, 
between  ourselves,  I  was  wretched  at  having  burnt  his  letter. 
In  what  terms  would  a  man  like  that  express  his  love  ?  For 
he  does  love  me.  To  be  loved,  adored  in  secret ;  to  know 
that  in  this  house,  where  all  the  great  men  of  Paris  were 
collected,  there  was  one  entirely  devoted  to  me,  unknown  to 
everybody  !     Ah  !  Ren^e,  now  I  understand  the  life  of  Paris, 


218  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

its  balls  and  its  gayeties.  It  all  flashed  on  me  in  the  true 
light.  When  we  love,  we  must  have  society,  were  it  only  to 
sacrifice  it  to  our  love.  I  felt  a  different  creature — and  such 
a  happy  one  !  My  vanity,  pride,  self-love — all  were  flattered. 
Heaven  knows  what  glances  I  cast  upon  the  brilliant  audi- 
ence ! 

"Little  rogue  !  "  the  duchess  whispered  in  my  ear  with  a 
smile. 

Yes,  Renee,  my  wily  mother  had  deciphered  the  hidden 
joy  in  my  bearing,  and  I  could  only  haul  down  my  flag  before 
such  feminine  strategy.  Those  two  words  taught  me  more  of 
worldly  wisdom  than  I  have  been  able  to  pick  up  in  a  year — 
for  we  are  in  March  now.  Alas !  no  more  Italian  opera  in 
another  month.  How  will  life  be  possible  without  that 
heavenly  music,  when  one's  heart  is  full  of  love? 

When  I  got  home,  my  dear,  with  determination  worthy  of 
a  Chaulieu,  I  opened  my  window  to  watch  a  shower  of  rain. 
Oh  !  if  men  knew  the  magic  spell  that  a  heroic  action  throws 
over  us,  they  would  indeed  rise  to  greatness !  a  poltroon 
would  turn  hero !  What  I  had  learned  about  my  Spaniard 
drove  me  into  a  very  fever.  I  felt  certain  that  he  was  there, 
ready  to  aim  another  letter  at  me. 

I  was  right,  and  this  time  I  burnt  nothing.  Here,  then,  is 
the  first  love-letter  I  have  received,  madame  logician :  each  to 
her  kind : 

*'  Louise,  it  is  not  for  your  peerless  beauty  I  love  you,  nor 
for  your  gifted  mind,  your  noble  feeling,  the  wondrous  charm 
of  all  you  say  and  do,  nor  yet  for  your  pride,  your  queenly 
scorn  of  baser  metals — a  pride  blended  in  you  with  charity,  for 
what  angel  could  be  more  tender  ?  Louise,  I  love  you  be- 
cause, for  the  sake  of  a  poor  exile,  you  have  unbent  this  lofty 
majesty,  because  by  a  gesture,  a  glance,  you  have  brought 
consolation  to  a  man  so  far  beneath  you  that  the  utmost  he 
could  hope  for  was  your  pity,  the  pity  of  a  generous  heart. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  219 

You  are  the  one  woman  whose  eyes  have  shone  with  a  tenderer 
light  when  bent  on  me. 

'*  And  because  you  let  fall  this  glance — a  mere  grain  of  dust, 
yet  a  grace  surpassing  any  bestowed  on  me  when  I  stood  at 
the  summit  of  a  subject's  ambition — I  long  to  tell  you,  Louise, 
how  dear  you  are  to  me,  and  that  my  love  is  for  yourself 
alone,  without  a  thought  beyond,  a  love  that  far  more  than 
fulfills  all  the  conditions  laid  down  by  you  for  an  ideal  pas- 
sion. 

"  Know  then,  idol  of  my  highest  heaven,  that  there  is  in 
the  world  an  offshoot  of  the  Saracen  race,  whose  life  is  in  your 
hands,  who  will  receive  your  orders  as  a  slave,  and  deem  it 
an  honor  to  execute  them.  I  have  given  myself  to  you  abso- 
lutely and  for  the  mere  joy  of  giving,  for  a  single  glance  of 
your  eye,  for  a  touch  of  the  hand  which  one  day  you  offered 
to  your  Spanish  master.  I  am  but  your  servitor,  Louise ;  I 
claim  no  more. 

"  No,  I  dare  not  think  that  I  could  ever  be  loved ;  but  per- 
chance my  devotion  may  win  for  me  toleration.  Since  that 
morning  when  you  smiled  upon  me  with  generous  girlish  im- 
pulse, divining  the  misery  of  my  lonely  and  rejected  heart, 
you  reign  there  alone.  You  are  the  absolute  ruler  of  my  life, 
the  queen  of  my  thoughts,  the  god  of  my  heart ;  I  find  you  in 
the  sunshine  of  my  home,  the  fragrance  of  my  flowers,  the 
balm  of  the  air  I  breathe,  the  pulsing  of  my  blood,  the  light 
that  visits  me  in  sleep. 

"One  thought  alone  troubled  this  happiness — your  ignor- 
ance. All  unknown  to  you  was  this  boundless  devotion,  the 
trusty  arm,  the  blind  slave,  the  silent  tool,  the  wealth — for 
henceforth  all  I  possess  is  mine  only  as  a  trust — which  lay  at 
your  disposal ;  unknown  to  you,  the  heart  waiting  to  receive 
your  confidence,  and  yearning  to  replace  all  that  your  life  (I 
know  it  well)  has  lacked — the  liberal  ancestress,  so  ready  to 
meet  your  needs,  a  father  to  whom  you  could  look  for  protec- 
tion in  every  difficulty,  a  friend,  a  brother.     The  secret  of 


220  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

your  isolation  is  no  secret  to  me  !  If  I  am  bold,  it  is  because 
I  long  that  you  should  know  how  much  is  yours. 

"Take  all,  Louise,  and  in  so  doing  bestow  on  me  the  one 
life  possible  for  me  in  this  world — the  life  of  devotion.  In 
placing  the  yoke  on  my  neck,  you  run  no  risk  ;  I  ask  nothing 
but  the  joy  of  knowing  myself  yours.  Needless  even  to  say 
that  you  will  never  love  me ;  it  cannot  be  otherwise.  I  must 
love  from  afar,  without  hope,  without  reward  beyond  my  own 
love. 

**  In  my  anxiety  to  know  whether  you  will  accept  me  as 
your  servant,  I  have  racked  my  brain  to  find  some  way  in 
which  you  may  communicate  with  me  without  any  danger  of 
compromising  yourself.  Injury  to  your  self-respect  there  can 
be  none  in  sanctioning  a  devotion  which  has  been  yours  for 
many  days  without  your  knowledge.  Let  this,  then,  be  the 
token.  At  the  opera  this  evening,  if  you  carry  in  your  hand 
a  bouquet  consisting  of  one  red  and  one  white  camellia — em- 
blem of  a  man's  blood  at  the  service  of  the  purity  he  worships 
— that  will  be  my  answer.  I  ask  no  more ;  thenceforth,  at 
any  moment,  ten  years  hence  or  to-.morrow,  whatever  you  de- 
mand shall  be  done,  so  far  as  it  is  possible  for  man  to  do  it, 
by  your  happy  servant, 

"FELIPE   HtNAREZ." 


P.  S. — ^You  must  admit,  dear,  that  great  lords  know  how  to 
love  !  See  the  spring  of  the  African  lion  !  What  restrained 
fire  !  What  loyalty  !  What  sincerity  !  How  high  a  soul  in 
low  estate  !  I  felt  quite  small  and  dazed  as  I  said  to  myself: 
"What  shall  I  do?" 

It  is  the  mark  of  a  great  man  that  he  puts  to  flight  all  ordi- 
nary calculations.  He  is  at  once  sublime  and  touching,  child- 
like and  of  the  race  of  giants.  In  a  single  letter  Hdnarez 
has  outstripped  volumes  from  Lovelace  or  Saint-Preux.  Here 
is  true  love,  no  beating  about  the  bush.     Love  may  be  or  it 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  221 

may  not,  but  where  it  is,  it  ought  to  reveal  itself  in  its  im- 
mensity. 

Here  am  I,  shorn  of  all  my  little  arts  !  To  refuse  or  accept ! 
That  is  the  alternative  boldly  presented  me,  without  the  ghost 
of  an  opening  for  a  middle  course.  No  fencing  allowed ! 
This  is  no  longer  Paris ;  we  are  in  the  heart  of  Spain  or  the  far 
East.  It  is  the  voice  of  Abencerrage,  and  it  is  the  scimitar, 
the  horse,  and  the  head  of  Abencerrage  which  he  offers,  pros- 
trate before  a  Catholic  Eve  !  Shall  I  accept  this  last  descend- 
ant of  the  Moors  ?  Read  again  and  again  his  Hispano-Sara- 
cenic  letter,  Renee  dear,  and  you  will  see  how  love  makes  a 
clean  sweep  of  all  the  Judaic  bargains  of  your  philosophy. 

Renee,  your  letter  lies  heavy  on  my  heart ;  you  have  vul- 
garized life  for  me.  What  need  have  I  for  finessing?  Am  I 
not  mistress  for  all  time  of  this  lion  whose  roar  dies  out  in 
plaintive  and  adoring  sighs  ?  Ah  !  how  he  must  have  raged 
in  his  lair  of  the  Rue  Hillerin-Bertin  !  I  know  where  he  lives, 
I  have  his  card  :  F.  Baron  de  Macumer, 

He  has  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  reply.  All  I  can  do 
is  to  fling  two  camellias  in  his  face.  What  fiendish  arts  does 
love  possess — pure,  honest,  simple-minded  love  !  Here  is  the 
most  tremendous  crisis  of  a  woman's  heart  resolved  into  an 
easy,  simple  action.  Oh,  Asia!  I  have  read  the  "Arabian 
Nights,"  here  is  their  very  essence:  two  flowers,  and  the 
question  is  settled.  We  clear  the  fourteen  volumes  of  "  Clarissa 
Harlowe"  with  a  bouquet.  I  writhe  before  this  letter,  like  a 
thread  in  the  fire.  To  take,  or  not  to  take,  my  two  camellias. 
Yes  or  No,  kill  or  give  life !  At  last  a  voice  cries  to  me, 
«'  Test  him  !  "     Yes,  I  will  test  hira. 


222  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE   SAME   TO   THE   SAME. 

March. 

I  am  dressed  in  white — white  camellias  in  my  hair,  and 
another  in  my  hand.  My  mother  has  red  camellias ;  so  it 
would  not  be  impossible  to  take  one  from  her — if  I  wished  ! 
I  have  a  strange  longing  to  put  off  the  decision  to  the  last 
moment,  and  make  him  pay  for  his  red  camellia  by  a  little 
suspense. 

What  a  vision  of  beauty !  Griffith  begged  me  to  stop  for  a 
little  and  be  admired.  The  solemn  crisis  of  the  evening  and 
the  drama  of  my  secret  reply  have  given  me  a  color ;  on  each 
cheek  I  sport  a  red  camellia  laid  upon  a  white  1 


Everybody  admired  me,  but  only  one  adored.  He  hung 
his  head  as  I  entered  with  a  white  camellia,  but  turned  pale 
as  the  flower  when,  later,  I  took  a  red  one  from  my  mother's 
hand.  To  arrive  with  the  two  flowers  might  possibly  have 
been  accidental ;  but  this  deliberate  action  was  a  reply.  My 
confession,  therefore,  is  fuller  than  it  need  have  been. 

The  opera  was  "Romeo  and  Juliet."  As  you  don't  know 
the  duet  of  the  two  lovers,  you  can't  understand  the  bliss  of 
two  neophytes  in  love,  as  they  listen  to  this  divine  outpour- 
ing of  the  heart. 

On  returning  home  I  went  to  bed,  but  only  to  count  the 
steps  which  resounded  on  the  sidewalk.  My  heart  and  head, 
darling,  are  all  on  fire  now.  What  is  he  doing  ?  What  is  he 
thinking  of?  Has  he  a  thought,  a  single  thought,  that  is  not 
of  me  ?  Is  he,  in  very  truth,  the  devoted  slave  he  painted 
himself?  How  to  be  sure  ?  Or,  again,  has  it  ever  entered 
his  head  that,  if  I  accept  him,  I  lay  myself  open  to  the  shadow 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  223 

of  a  reproach  or  am  in  any  sense  rewarding  or  thanking  him? 
I  am  harrowed  by  the  hair-splitting  casuistry  of  the  heroines 
in  "The  Great  Cyrus"  and  "  Astrgea,"  by  all  the  subtle  argu- 
ments of  the  court  of  love. 

Has  he  any  idea  that,  in  affairs  of  love,  a  woman's  most 
trifling  actions  are  but  the  issue  of  long  brooding  and  inner 
conflicts,  of  victories  won  only  to  be  lost !  What  are  his 
thoughts  at  this  moment  ?  How  can  I  give  him  my  orders  to 
write  every  evening  the  particulars  of  the  day  just  gone?  He 
is  my  slave  whom  I  ought  to  keep  busy.  I  shall  deluge  him 
with  work ! 

Sunday  Morning. 
Only  toward  morning  did  I  sleep  a  little.     It  is  midday 
now.     I  have  just  got  Griffith  to  write  the  following  letter : 

*^To  the  Baron  de  Macumer. 

"  Mademoiselle  de  Chaulieu  begs  me,  Monsieur  le  Baron, 
to  ask  you  to  return  to  her  the  copy  of  a  letter  written  to  her 
by  a  friend,  which  is  in  her  own  handwriting,  and  which  you 
carried  away.     Receive,  etc., 

''S.  Griffith." 

My  dear,  Griffith  has  gone  out ;  she  has  gone  to  the  Rue 
Hillerin-Bertin  ;  she  has  handed  in  this  little  love-letter  for 
my  slave,  who  returned  to  me  in  an  envelope  my  ideal  portrait, 
stained  with  tears.  He  has  obeyed.  Oh  !  my  sweet,  it  must 
have  been  dear  to  him  !  Another  man  would  have  refused  to 
send  it  in  a  letter  full  of  flattery ;  but  the  Saracen  has  fulfilled 
his  promises.     He  has  obeyed.     It  moves  me  to  tears. 


224  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

XVII. 

THE   SAME  TO   THE   SAME. 

April  id. 

Yesterday  the  weather  was  splendid.  I  dressed  myself  like 
a  girl  who  wants  to  look  her  best  in  her  sweetheart's  eyes. 
My  father,  yielding  to  my  entreaties,  has  given  me  the  pret- 
tiest turnout  in  Paris — two  dapple-gray  horses  and  a  barouche, 
which  is  a  masterpiece  of  elegance.  I  was  making  a  first  trial 
of  this,  and  peeped  out  like  a  flower  from  under  my  sunshade 
lined  with  white  silk. 

As  I  drove  up  the  avenue  of  the  Champs-Elysees,  I  saw  my 
Abencerrage  approaching  on  an  extraordinarily  beautiful  horse. 
Almost  every  man  now-a-days  is  a  finished  jockey,  and  they 
all  stopped  to  admire  and  inspect  it.  He  bowed  to  me,  and 
on  receiving  a  friendly  sign  of  encouragement,  slackened  his 
horse's  pace  so  that  I  was  able  to  say  to  him : 

"You  are  not  vexed  with  me  for  asking  for  my  letter ;  it 
was  no  use  to  you?"     Then  in   a  lower  voice,  "You  have 

already  transcended  the  ideal Your  horse  makes  you  an 

object  of  general  interest,"  I  went  on  aloud. 

"  My  steward  in  Sardinia  sent  it  to  me.  He  is  very  proud 
of  it ;  for  this  horse,  which  is  of  Arabian  blood,  was  born  in 
my  stables." 

This  morning,  my  dear,  Henarez  was  on  an  English  sorrel, 
also  very  fine,  but  not  such  as  to  attract  attention.  My  light, 
mocking  words  had  done  their  work.  He  bowed  to  me,  and  I 
replied  with  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head. 

The  Due  d'Angoul6me  has  bought  Macumer's  horse.  My 
slave  understood  that  he  was  deserting  the  role  of  simplicity 
by  attracting  the  notice  of  the  crowd.  A  man  ought  to  be 
remarked  for  what  he  is,  not  for  his  horse,  or  anything  else 
belonging  to  him.     To  have  too  beautiful  a  horse  seems  to  me 


LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES.  M5 

a  piece  of  bad  taste,  just  as  much  as  wearing  a  huge  diamond 
pin.  I  was  delighted  at  being  able  to  find  faHlt  with  him. 
Perhaps  there  may  have  been  a  touch  of  vanity  in  what  he 
did,  very  excusable  in  a  poor  exile,  and  I  like  to  see  this  child- 
ishness. 

Oh !  my  dear  old  preacher,  do  my  love  affairs  amuse  you 
as  much  as  your  dismal  philosophy  gives  me  the  creeps?  Dear 
Philip  the  Second  in  petticoats,  are  you  comfortable  in  my 
barouche?  Do  you  see  those  velvet  eyes,  humble,  yet  so 
eloquent,  and  glorying  in  their  servitude,  which  flash  on  me 
as  some  one  goes  by  ?  He  is  a  hero,  Renee,  and  he  wears  my 
livery,  and  always  a  red  camellia  in  his  button-hole,  while  I 
have  always  a  white  one  in  my  hand. 

How  clear  everything  becomes  in  the  light  of  love  !  How 
well  I  know  my  Paris  now  !  It  is  all  transfused  with  meaning. 
And  love  here  is  lovelier,  grander,  more  bewitching  than 
elsewhere. 

I  am  convinced  now  that  I  could  never  torment  or  flirt 
with  a  fool  or  make  any  impression  on  him.  It  is  only  men 
of  real  distinction  who  can  enter  into  our  feelings  and  feel 
our  influence.  Oh  !  my  poor  friend,  forgive  me.  I  forgot 
our  I'Estorade.  But  didn't  you  tell  me  you  were  going  to 
make  a  genius  of  him  ?  I  know  what  that  means.  You  will 
dry  nurse  him  till  some  day  he  is  able  to  understand  you. 

Good-by.     I  am  a  little  off  my  head,  and  must  stop. 


XVIII. 

MME.    DE  l'eSTORADE  TO  LOUISE   DE   CHAULIEU. 

April. 
My  angel — or  ought  I  not  rather  to  say  my  imp  of  evil? — 
you  have,  without  meaning  it,  grieved  me  sorely.     I  would 
say  wounded  were  we  not  one  soul.     And  yet  it  is  possible  to 
wound  one's  self. 
15 


226  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

How  plain  it  is  that  you  have  never  realized  the  force  of  the 
word  indissoluble  as  applied  to  the  contract  binding  man  and 
woman  !  I  have  no  wish  to  controvert  what  has  been  laid 
down  by  philosophers  or  legislators — they  are  quite  capable  of 
doing  this  for  themselves — but,  dear  one,  in  making  marriage 
irrevocable  and  imposing  on  it  a  relentless  formula,  which 
admits  of  no  exceptions,  they  have  rendered  each  union  a 
thing  as  distinct  as  one  individual  is  from  another.  Each  has 
its  own  inner  laws  which  differ  from  those  of  others.  The 
laws  regulating  married  life  in  the  country,  for  instance, 
where  husband  and  wife  are  never  out  of  each  other's  sight, 
cannot  be  the  same  as  those  regulating  a  household  in  town, 
where  frequent  distractions  give  variety  to  life.  Or  conversely, 
married  life  in  Paris,  where  existence  is  one  perpetual  whirl, 
must  demand  different  treatment  from  the  more  peaceful  home 
in  the  provinces. 

But  if  place  alters  the  conditions  of  marriage,  much  more 
does  character.  The  wife  of  a  man  born  to  be  a  leader 
need  only  resign  herself  to  his  guidance ;  whereas  the  wife  of 
a  fool,  conscious  of  superior  power,  is  bound  to  take  the  reins 
in  her  own  hand  if  she  would  avert  calamity. 

You  speak  of  vice ;  and  it  is  possible  that,  after  all,  reason 
and  reflection  produce  a  result  not  dissimilar  from  what  we 
call  by  that  name.  For  what  does  a  woman  mean  by  it  but 
perversion  of  feeling  through  calculation  ?  Passion  is  vicious 
when  it  reasons,  admirable  only  when  it  springs  from  the  heart 
and  spends  itself  in  sublime  impulses  that  set  at  naught  all 
selfish  considerations.  Sooner  or  later,  dear  one,  you  too  will 
say,  "Yes  !  dissimulation  is  the  necessary  armor  of  a  woman, 
if  by  dissimulation  be  meant  courage  to  bear  in  silence,  pru- 
dence to  foresee  the  future." 

Every  married  woman  learns  to  her  cost  the  existence  of 
certain  social  laws,  which,  in  many  respects,  conflict  with  the 
laws  of  nature.  Marrying  at  our  age,  it  would  be  possible  to 
have  a  dozen  children.     What  is  this  but  another  name  for  a 


LETTERS   OF   TWO   BRIDES.  227 

dozen  crimes,  a  dozen  misfortunes?  It  would  be  handing 
over  to  poverty  and  despair  twelve  innocent  darlings ;  whereas 
two  children  would  mean  the  happiness  of  both,  a  double  bless- 
ing, two  lives  capable  of  developing  in  harmony  with  the  cus- 
toms and  laws  of  our  time.  The  natural  law  and  the  code  are 
in  hostility,  and  we  are  the  battle-ground.  Would  you  give 
the  name  of  vice  to  the  prudence  of  the  wife  who  guards  her 
family  from  destruction  through  its  own  acts  ?  One  calcula- 
tion or  a  thousand,  what  matter,  if  the  decision  no  longer 
rests  with  the  heart? 

And  of  this  terrible  calculation  you  will  be  guilty  some  day, 
my  noble  Baronne  de  Macumer,  when  you  are  the  proud  and 
happy  wife  of  the  man  who  adores  you ;  or  rather,  being  a  man 
of  sense,  he  will  spare  you  by  making  it  himself.  (You  see, 
dear  dreamer,  that  I  have  studied  the  code  in  its  bearings  on 
conjugal  relations.)  And  when  at  last  that  day  comes,  you 
will  understand  that  we  are  answerable  only  to  God  and  to 
ourselves  for  the  means  we  employ  to  keep  happiness  alight  in 
the  heart  of  our  homes.  Far  better  is  the  calculation  which 
succeeds  in  this  than  the  reckless  passion  which  introduces 
trouble,  heartburnings,  and  dissension. 

I  have  reflected  painfully  on  the  duties  of  a  wife  and  mother 
of  a  family.  Yes,  sweet  one,  it  is  only  by  a  sublime  hypoc- 
risy that  we  can  attain  the  noblest  ideal  of  a  perfect  woman. 
You  tax  me  with  insincerity  because  I  dole  out  to  Louis,  from 
day  to  day,  the  measure  of  his  intimacy  with  me ;  but  is  it  not 
too  close  an  intimacy  which  provokes  rupture?  My  aim  is  to 
give  him,  in  the  very  interest  of  his  happiness,  many  occupa- 
tions, which  will  all  serve  as  distractions  to  his  love ;  and  this 
is  not  the  reasoning  of  passion.  If  affection  be  inexhaustible, 
it  is  not  so  with  love :  the  task,  therefore,  of  a  woman — truly 
no  light  one — is  to  spread  it  out  thriftily  over  a  lifetime. 

At  the  risk  of  exciting  your  disgust,  I  must  tell  yon  that 
I  persist  in  the  principles  I  have  adopted,  and  hold  myself 
both  heroic  and  generous  in  so  doing.     Virtue,  my  pet,  is  an 


228  LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES. 

abstract  idea,  varying  in  its  manifestations  with  the  surround- 
ings. Virtue  in  Provence,  in  Constantinople,  in  London, 
and  in  Paris  bears  very  different  fruit,  but  is  none  the  less 
virtue.  Each  human  life  is  a  substance  compacted  of  widely 
dissimilar  elements,  though,  viewed  from  a  certain  height,  the 
general  effect  is  the  same. 

If  I  wished  to  make  Louis  unhappy  and  to  bring  about  a 
separation,  all  I  need  do  is  to  leave  the  helm  in  his  hands. 
I  have  not  had  your  good  fortune  in  meeting  with  a  man  of 
the  highest  distinction,  but  I  may  perhaps  have  the  satisfac- 
tion of  helping  him  on  the  road  to  it.  Five  years  hence  let 
us  meet  in  Paris  and  see  !  I  believe  we  shall  succeed  in  mys- 
tifying you.  You  will  tell  me  then  that  I  was  quite  mistaken, 
and  that  M.  de  I'Estorade  is  a  rnan  of  great  natural  gifts. 

As  for  this  brave  love,  of  which  I  know  only  what  you  tell 
me,  these  tremors  and  night-watches  by  starlight  on  the  bal- 
cony, this  idolatrous  worship,  this  deification  of  woman — I 
knew  it  was  not  for  me.  You  can  enlarge  the  borders  of  your 
brilliant  life  as  you  please;  mine  is  hemmed  in  to  the  boun- 
daries of  La  Crampade. 

And  you  reproach  me  for  the  jealous  care  which  alone  can 
nurse  this  modest  and  fragile  shoot  into  a  wealth  of  lasting 
and  mysterious  happiness !  I  believe  myself  to  have  found 
out  how  to  adapt  the  charm  of  a  mistress  to  the  position  of  a 
wife,  and  you  have  almost  made  me  blush  for  my  device.  Who 
shall  say  which  of  us  is  right,  which  wrong?  Perhaps  we  are 
both  right  and  both  wrong.  Perhaps  this  is  the  heavy  price 
which  society  exacts  for  our  furbelows,  our  titles,  and  our 
children. 

I,  too,  have  my  red  camellias,  but  they  bloom  on  my  lips  in 
smiles  for  my  double  charge — the  father  and  the  son — whose 
slave  and  mistress  I  am.  But,  my  dear,  your  last  letters  made 
me  feel  what  I  have  lost !  Y'ou  have  taught  me  all  a  woman 
sacrifices  in  marrying.  One  single  glance  did  I  take  at  those 
beautiful  wild  plateaus  where  you  range  at  your  sweet  will, 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  229 

and  I  will  not  tell  you  the  tears  that  fell  as  I  read.  But  regret 
is  not  remorse,  though  it  may  be  first  cousin  to  it. 

You  say,  "  Marriage  has  made  you  a  philosopher  !  "  Alas  ! 
bitterly  did  I  feel  how  far  this  was  from  the  truth,  as  I  wept 
to  think  of  you  swept  away  on  love's  torrent.  But  my  father 
has  made  me  read  one  of  the  profoundest  thinkers  of  these 
parts,  the  man  on  whom  the  mantle  of  Bossuet  has  fallen,  one 
of  those  hard-headed  theorists  whose  words  force  conviction. 
While  you  were  reading  "  Corinne,"  I  conned  Bonald ;  and 
here  is  the  whole  secret  of  my  philosophy.  He  revealed  to 
me  the  Family  in  its  strength  and  holiness.  According  to 
Bonald,  your  father  was  right  in  his  homily. 

Farewell,  my  dear  fancy,  my  friend,  my  wild  other  self. 


XIX. 

LOUISE    DE   CHAULIEU   TO   MME.    DE   l'eSTORADE. 

Well,  my  Ren6e,  you  are  a  love  of  a  woman,  and  I  quite 
agree  now  that  we  can  only  be  virtuous  by  cheating.  Will 
that  satisfy  you  ?  Moreover,  the  man  who  loves  us  is  our 
property ;  we  can  make  a  fool  or  a  genius  of  him  as  we  please ; 
only,  between  ourselves,  the  former  happens  more  commonly. 
You  will  make  yours  a  genius,  and  you  won't  tell  the  secret — 
there  are  two  heroic  actions,  if  you  will  ! 

Ah  !  if  there  were  no  future  life,  how  nicely  you  would  be 
sold,  for  this  is  martyrdom  into  which  you  are  plunging  of 
your  own  accord.  You  want  to  make  him  ambitious  and  to 
keep  him  in  love  !  Child  that  you  are,  surely  the  last  alone 
is  sufficient. 

Tell  me,  to  what  point  is  calculation  a  virtue,  or  virtue 
calculation?  You  won't  say?  Well,  we  won't  quarrel  over 
that,  since  we  liave  Bonald  to  refer  to.  We  are,  and  intend 
to  remain,  virtuous ;  nevertheless  at  this  moment  I  believe 


230  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

that  you,  with  all  your  pretty  little  knavery,  are  a  better 
woman  than  I  am. 

Yes,  I  am  shockingly  deceitful,  1  love  Felipe,  and  I  con- 
ceal it  from  him  with  an  odious  hypocrisy.  I  long  to  see  him 
leap  from  his  tree  to  the  top  of  the  wall,  and  from  the  wall  to 
my  balcony — and  if  he  did,  how  I  should  wither  him  with  my 
scorn  !     You  see,  I  am  frank  enough  with  you. 

What  restrains  me?  Where  is  the  mysterious  power  which 
prevents  me  from  telling  Felipe,  dear  fellow,  how  supremely 
happy  he  has  made  me  by  the  outpouring  of  his  love — so 
pure,  so  absolute,  so  boundless,  so  unobtrusive,  and  so  over- 
flowing ? 

Mme.  de  Mirbel  is  painting  my  portrait,  and  I  intend  to 
give  it  to  him,  my  dear.  What  surprises  me  more  and  more 
every  day  is  the  animation  which  love  puts  into  life.  How 
full  of  interest  is  every  hour,  every  action,  every  trifle !  and 
what  amazing  confusion  between  the  past,  the  future,  and  the 
present !  One  lives  in  three  tenses  at  once.  Is  it  still  so 
after  the  heights  of  happiness  are  reached  ?  Oh  !  tell  me,  I 
implore  you,  what  is  happiness?  Does  it  soothe,  or  does  it 
excite  ?  I  am  horribly  restless ;  I  seem  to  have  lost  all  my 
bearings  ;  a  force  in  my  heart  drags  me  to  him,  spite  of  reason 
and  spite  of  propriety.  There  is  this  gain,  that  I  am  better 
able  to  enter  into  your  feelings. 

Felipe's  happiness  consists  in  feeling  himself  mine;  the 
aloofness  of  his  love,  his  strict  obedience,  irritate  me,  just  as 
his  attitude  of  profound  respect  provoked  me  when  he  was  only 
my  Spanish  master.  I  am  tempted  to  cry  out  to  him  as  he 
passes :  "  Fool,  if  you  love  me  so  much  as  a  picture,  what  will 
it  be  when  you  know  the  real  me? " 

Oh  !  Renee,  you  burn  my  letters,  don't  you?  I  will  burn 
yours.  If  other  eyes  than  ours  were  to  read  these  thoughts 
which  pass  from  heart  to  heart,  I  should  send  Felipe  to  cut 
them  out,  and  perhaps  to  kill  the  owners,  by  way  of  additional 
security. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  231 

Monday, 

Oh  !  Renee,  how  is  it  possible  to  fathom  the  heart  of  man  ? 
My  father  ought  to  introduce  me  to  M.  Bonald,  since  he  is  so 
learned  ;  I  would  ask  him.  I  envy  the  privilege  of  God,  who 
can  read  the  undercurrents  of  the  heart. 

Does  he  still  worship?     That  is  the  whole  question. 

If  ever,  in  gesture,  glance,  or  tone,  I  were  to  detect  the 
slightest  falling  off  in  the  respect  he  used  to  show  me  in  the 
days  when  he  was  my  instructor  in  Spanish,  I  feel  that  I 
should  have  strength  to  put  the  whole  thing  from  me.  "  Why 
these  fine  words,  these  grand  resolutions?"  you  will  say. 
Dear,  I  will  tell  you. 

My  fascinating  father,  who  treats  me  with  the  devotion  of 
an  Italian  cavaliere  servenie  for  his  lady,  had  my  portrait 
painted,  as  I  told  you,  by  Mme.  de  Mirbel.  I  contrived  to 
get  a  copy  made,  good  enough  to  do  for  the  duke,  and  sent 
the  original  to  Felipe.  I  dispatched  it  yesterday,  and  these 
lines  with  it : 

"  Don  Felipe,  your  single-hearted  devotion  is  met  by  a 
blind  confidence.  Time  will  show  whether  this  is  not  to 
treat  a  man  as  more  than  human." 

It  was  a  big  reward.  It  looked  like  a  promise  and — dread- 
ful to  say — a  challenge;  but — which  will  seem  to  you  still 
more  dreadful — I  quite  intended  that  it  should  suggest  both 
these  things,  without  going  so  far  as  actually  to  commit  me. 
If  in  his  reply  there  is  "Dear  Louise!  "  or  even  "Louise," 
he  is  done  for  ! 

Tuesday. 
No,  he  is  not  done  for.     The  constitutional  minister  is 
perfect  as  a  lover.     Here  is  his  letter: 

**  Every  moment  passed  away  from  your  sight  has  been 


232  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

filled  by  me  with  ideal  pictures  of  you,  my  eyes  closed  to  the 
outside  world  and  fixed  in  meditation  on  your  image,  which 
used  to  obey  the  summons  too  slowly  in  that  dim  palace  of 
dreams,  glorified  by  your  presence.  Henceforth  my  gaze  will 
rest  upon  this  wondrous  ivory — this  talisman,  might  I  not  say? 
— since  your  blue  eyes  sparkle  with  life  as  I  look,  and  paint 
passes  into  flesh  and  blood.  If  I  have  delayed  writing,  it 
is  because  I  could  not  tear  myself  away  from  your  presence, 
which  wrung  from  me  all  that  I  was  bound  to  keep  most 
secret. 

"Yes,  closeted  with  you  all  last  night  and  to-day,  I  have, 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  given  myself  up  to  full,  complete, 
and  boundless  happiness.  Could  you  but  see  yourself  where 
I  have  placed  you,  between  the  Virgin  and  God,  you  might 
have  some  idea  of  the  agony  in  which  the  night  has  passed. 
But  I  would  not  offend  you  by  speaking  of  it ;  for  one  glance 
from  your  eyes,  robbed  of  the  tender  sweetness  which  is  my 
life,  would  be  full  of  torture  for  me,  and  I  implore  your 
clemency  therefore  in  advance.  Queen  of  my  life  and  of  my 
soul,  oh !  that  you  could  grant  me  but  one-thousandth  part  of 
the  love  I  bear  you  ! 

**  This  was  the  burden  of  my  prayer  ;  doubt  worked  havoc 
in  my  soul  as  I  oscillated  between  belief  and  despair,  between 
life  and  death,  darkness  and  light.  A  criminal  whose  verdict 
hangs  in  the  balance  is  not  more  racked  with  suspense  than  I, 
as  I  own  to  my  temerity.  The  smile  imaged  on  your  lips,  to 
which  my  eyes  turned  ever  and  again,  was  alone  able  to  calm 
the  storm  roused  by  the  dread  of  displeasing  you.  From  my 
birth  no  one,  not  even  my  mother,  has  smiled  on  me.  The 
beautiful  young  girl  who  was  designed  for  me  rejected  my 
heart  and  gave  hers  to  my  brother.  Again,  in  politics  all  my 
efforts  have  been  defeated.  In  the  eyes  of  my  king  I  have 
read  only  thirst  for  vengeance ;  from  childhood  he  has  been 
my  enemy,  and  the  vote  of  the  Cortes  which  placed  me  in 
power  was  regarded  by  him  as  a  personal  insult. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  288 

"Less  than  this  might  breed  despondency  in  the  stoutest 
heart.  Beside,  I  have  no  illusion  ;  I  know  the  ill-grace  of  my 
person,  and  am  well  aware  how  difficult  it  is  to  do  justice  to 
the  heart  within  so  rugged  a  shell.  To  be  loved  had  ceased 
to  be  more  than  a  dream  to  me  when  I  met  you.  Thus  when 
I  bound  myself  to  your  service  I  knew  that  devotion  alone 
could  excuse  my  passion. 

"But,  as  I  look  upon  this  portrait  and  listen  to  your  smile 
that  whispers  of  rapture,  the  rays  of  a  hope  which  I  had 
sternly  banished  pierce  the  gloom,  like  the  light  of  dawn, 
again  to  be  obscured  by  rising  mists  of  doubt  and  fear  of 
your  displeasure,  if  the  morning  should  break  to-day.  No,  it 
is  impossible  you  should  love  me  yet — I  feel  it,  but  in  time,  as 
you  make  proof  of  the  strength,  the  constancy,  and  depth,  of 
my  affection,  you  may  yield  me  some  foothold  in  your  heart. 
Tf  my  daring  offends  you,  tell  me  so  without  anger,  and  I  will 
return  to  my  former  part.  But  if  you  consent  to  try  and 
love  me,  be  merciful  and  break  it  gently  to  one.  who  has 
placed  the  happiness  of  his  life  in  the  single  thought  of 
serving  you." 

My  dear,  as  I  read  these  last  words,  he  seemed  to  rise  before 
me,  pale  as  the  night  when  the  camellias  told  their  story  and 
he  knew  his  offering  was  accepted.  These  words,  in  their 
humility,  were  clearly  something  quite  different  from  the 
usual  flowery  rhetoric  of  lovers,  and  a  wave  of  feeling  broke 
over  me ;  I  breathed  the  breath  of  happiness. 

The  weather  has  been  atrocious ;  impossible  to  go  to  the 
Bois  without  exciting  all  sorts  of  suspicions.  Even  my  mother, 
who  often  goes  out,  regardless  of  rain,  remains  at  home,  and 
alone. 

Wednesday  Evening. 
I  have  just  seen  him  at  the  opera,  my  dear  ;  he  is  another 
man.     He  came  to  our  box,  introduced  by  the  Sardinian  am- 
bassador. 


234  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

Having  read  in  my  eyes  that  this  audacity  was  taken  in 
good  part,  he  seemed  awkwardly  conscious  of  his  limbs,  and 
addressed  the  Marquise  d'Espard  as  '•'Mademoiselle."  A 
light  far  brighter  than  the  glare  of  the  chandeliers  flashed 
from  his  eyes.  At  last  he  went  out  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
didn't  know  what  he  might  do  next. 

"The  Baron  de  Macumer  is  in  love!"  exclaimed  Mme. 
de  Maufrigneuse. 

"Strange,  isn't  it,  for  a  fallen  minister?"  replied  my 
mother. 

I  had  sufficient  presence  of  mind  myself  to  regard  with 
curiosity  Mmes.  de  Maufrigneuse  and  d'Espard  and  my  mother, 
as  though  they  were  talking  a  foreign  language  and  I  wanted 
to  know  what  it  was  all  about,  but  inwardly  my  soul  sank  in 
the  waves  of  an  intoxicating  joy.  There  is  only  one  word  to 
express  what  I  felt,  and  that  is :  rapture.  Such  love  as  Felipe's 
surely  makes  him  worthy  of  mine.  I  am  the  very  breath  of 
his  life,  my  hands  hold  the  thread  that  guides  his  thoughts. 
To  be  quite  frank,  I  have  a  mad  longing  to  see  him  clear 
every  obstacle  and  stand  before  me,  asking  boldly  for  my 
hand.  Then  I  should  know  whether  this  storm  of  love  would 
sink  to  placid  calm  at  a  glance  from  me. 

Ah  I  my  dear,  I  stopped  here,  and  I  am  still  all  in  a 
tremble.  As  I  wrote,  I  heard  a  slight  noise  outside,  and  rose 
to  see  what  it  was.  From  my  window  I  could  see  him  com- 
ing along  the  ridge  of  the  wall  at  the  risk  of  his  life.  I  went 
to  the  bedroom  window  and  made  him  a  sign,  it  was  enough ; 
he  leapt  from  the  wall — ten  feet — and  then  ran  along  the 
road,  so  far  as  I  could  see  him,  in  order  to  show  me  that  he 
was  not  hurt.  That  he  should  think  of  my  fear  at  the  moment 
when  he  must  have  been  made  giddy  by  his  fall  moved  me  so 
much  that  I  am  still  crying;  I  don't  know  why.  Poor  un- 
gainly man  !  what  was  he  coming  for  ?  what  had  he  to  say 
to  me? 

I  dare  not  write  any  more  of  my  thoughts,  and  shall  go  to 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  236 

bed  joyful,  thinking  of  all  that  we  would  say  if  we  were  to- 
gether. Farewell,  fair  silent  one.  I  have  not  time  to  scold 
you  for  not  writing,  but  it  is  more  than  a  month  since  I  have 
heard  from  you  !  Does  this  mean  that  you  are  at  last  happy  ! 
Have  you  lost  the  "complete  independence"  which  you  were 
so  proud  of,  and  which  to-night  has  so  nearly  played  me 
false  ? 


XX. 

REN^E   DE   l'eSTORADE    TO   LOUISE   DE   CHAULIEU. 

May. 

If  love  be  the  life  of  the  world,  why  do  austere  philosoph<!!rs 
count  it  for  nothing  in  marriage  ?  Why  should  Society  take 
for  its  first  law  that  the  woman  must  be  sacrificed  to  the 
Family,  introducing  thus  a  note  of  discord  into  the  very  heart 
of  marriage?  And  this  discord  was  foreseen,  since  it  was  to 
meet  the  dangers  arising  from  it  that  men  were  armed  with 
new-found  powers  against  us.  But  for  these,  we  should  have 
been  able  to  bring  their  whole  theory  to  nothing,  whether  by 
the  force  of  love  or  of  a  secret,  persistent  aversion. 

I  see  in  marriage,  as  it  at  present  exists,  two  opposing  forces 
which  it  was  the  task  of  the  lawgiver  to  reconcile.  "When 
will  they  be  reconciled?"  I  said  to  myself,  as  I  read  your 
letter.  Oh  !  my  dear,  one  such  letter  alone  is  enough  to 
overthrow  the  whole  fabric  constructed  by  the  sage  of  Aveyron, 
under  whose  shelter  I  had  so  cheerfully  ensconced  myself ! 
The  laws  were  made  by  old  men — any  woman  can  see  that — 
and  they  have  been  prudent  enough  to  decree  that  conjugal 
love,  apart  from  passion,  is  not  degrading,  and  that  a  woman 
in  yielding  herself  may  dispense  with  the  sanction  of  love, 
provided  the  man  can  legally  call  her  his.  In  their  exclusive 
concern  for  the  Family  they  have  imitated  Nature,  whose  one 
care  is  to  propagate  the  species. 


236  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

Formerly  I  was  a  person,  now  I  am  a  chattel.  Not  a  few 
tears  have  I  gulped  down,  alone  and  far  from  every  one.  How 
gladly  would  I  have  exchanged  them  for  a  consoling  smile ! 
Why  are  our  destinies  so  unequal  ?  Your  soul  expands  in  the 
atmosphere  of  a  lawful  passion.  For  you,  virtue  will  coincide 
with  pleasure.  If  you  encounter  pain,  it  will  be  of  your  own 
free  choice.  Your  duty,  if  you  marry  Felipe,  will  be  one 
with  the  sweetest,  freest  indulgence  of  feeling.  Our  future  is 
big  with  the  answer  to  my  question,  and  I  look  for  it  with 
restless  eagerness. 

You  love  and  are  adored.  Oh  !  my  dear,  let  this  noble 
romance,  the  old  subject  of  our  dreams,  take  full  possession 
of  your  soul.  Womanly  beauty,  refined  and  spiritualized  in 
you,  was  created  by  God,  for  His  own  purposes,  to  charm  and 
to  delight.  Yes,  my  sweet,  guard  well  the  secret  of  your 
heart,  and  submit  Felipe  to  those  ingenious  devices  of  ours 
for  testing  a  lover's  metal.  Above  all,  make  trial  of  your  own 
love,  for  this  is  even  more  important.  It  is  so  easy  to  be  mis- 
led by  the  deceptive  glamour  of  novelty  and  passion,  and  by 
the  vision  of  happiness. 

Alone  of  the  two  friends,  you  remain  in  your  maiden  inde- 
pendence ;  and  I  beseech  you,  dearest,  do  not  risk  the  irrevo- 
cable step  of  marriage  without  some  guarantee.  It  happens 
sometimes,  when  two  are  talking  together,  apart  from  the 
world,  their  souls  stripped  of  social  disguise,  that  a  gesture,  a 
word,  a  look  lights  up,  as  by  a  flash,  some  dark  abyss.  You 
have  courage  and  strength  to  tread  boldly  in  paths  where 
others  would  be  lost. 

You  have  no  conception  with  what  anxiety  I  watch  you. 
Across  all  this  space  I  see  you ;  my  heart  beats  with  yours. 
Be  sure,  therefore,  to  write  and  tell  me  everything.  Your 
letters  create  an  inner  life  of  passion  within  my  homely, 
peaceful  household,  which  reminds  me  of  a  level  highway  on 
a  gray  day.  The  only  event  here,  my  sweet,  is  that  I  am 
playing  cross-purposes  with  myself.     But  I  don't  want  to  tell 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  287 

you  about  it  just  now ;  it  must  wait  for  another  day.  With 
dogged  obstinacy,  I  pass  from  despair  to  hope,  now  yielding, 
now  holding  back.  It  may  be  that  I  ask  from  life  more  thaa 
we  have  a  right  to  claim.  In  youth  we  are  so  ready  to  believe 
that  the  ideal  and  the  real  will  harmonize  ! 

I  have  been  pondering  alone,  seated  beneath  a  rock  in  my 
park,  and  the  fruit  of  my  pondering  is  that  love  in  marriage 
is  a  happy  accident  on  which  it  is  impossible  to  base  a  uni- 
versal law.  My  Aveyron  philosopher  is  right  in  looking  on 
the  Family  as  the  only  possible  unit  in  society,  and  in  placing 
woman  in  subjection  to  the  Family,  as  she  has  been  in  all  ages. 
The  solution  of  this  great — for  us  almost  awful — question  lies 
in  our  first  child.  For  this  reason,  I  would  gladly  be  ''a 
mother,  were  it  only  to  supply  food  for  the  consuming  energy 
of  my  soul. 

Louis'  temper  remains  as  perfect  as  ever;  his  love  is  of  the 
active,  my  tenderness  of  the  passive,  type.  He  is  happy, 
plucking  the  flowers  which  bloom  for  him,  without  troubling 
about  the  labor  of  the  earth  which  has  produced  them.  Blessed 
self-absorption  !  At  whatever  cost  to  myself,  I  fall  in  with 
his  illusions,  as  a  mother,  in  my  idea  of  her,  should  be  ready 
to  spend  herself  to  satisfy  a  fancy  of  her  child.  The  intensity 
of  his  joy  blinds  him,  and  even  throws  its  reflection  upon  me. 
The  smile  or  look  of  satisfaction  which  the  knowledge  of  his 
content  brings  to  my  face  is  enough  to  satisfy  him.  And  so, 
"my  child  "  is  the  pet  name  which  I  give  him  when  we  are 
alone. 

And  I  wait  for  the  fruit  of  all  these  sacrifices  which  remain 
a  secret  between  God,  myself,  and  you.  On  motherhood  I 
have  staked  enormously :  my  credit  account  is  now  too  large, 
I  fear  I  shall  never  receive  full  payment.  To  it  I  look  for 
employment  of  my  energy,  expansion  of  my  heart,  and  the 
compensation  of  a  world  of  joys.  Pray  heaven  I  be  not  de- 
ceived !  It  is  a  question  of  all  my  future  and,  horrible 
thought,  of  my  virtue. 


238  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES, 


XXL 

LOUISE   DE   CHAULIEU   TO   REN^E   DE   l'eSTORADE. 

June. 

Dear  wedded  Sweetheart: — Your  letter  has  arrived  at 
the  very  moment  to  hearten  me  for  a  bold  step  which  I  have 
been  meditating  night  and  day.  I  feel  within  me  a  strange 
craving  for  the  unknown,  or,  if  you  will,  the  forbidden,  which 
makes  me  uneasy  and  reveals  a  conflict  in  progress  in  my  soul 
between  the  laws  of  society  and  of  nature.  I  cannot  tell 
whether  nature  in  me  is  the  stronger  of  the  two,  but  I  surprise 
myself  in  the  act  of  mediating  between  the  hostile  powers. 

In  plain  words,  what  I  wanted  was  to  speak  with  Felipe, 
alone,  at  night,  under  the  lime-trees  at  the  bottom  of  our 
garden.  There  is  no  denying  that  this  desire  beseems  the 
girl  who  has  earned  the  epithet  of  an  "  up-to-date  young 
lady,"  bestowed  on  me  by  the  duchess  in  jest,  and  which  my 
father  has  approved. 

Yet  to  me  there  seems  a  method  in  this  madness.  I  should 
recompense  Felipe  for  the  long  nights  he  has  passed  under  my 
window,  at  the  same  time  that  I  should  test  him,  by  seeing 
what  he  thinks  of  my  escapade  and  how  he  comports  himself 
at  a  critical  moment.  Let  him  cast  a  halo  round  my  folly — 
behold  in  him  my  husband ;  let  him  show  one  iota  less  of  the 
tremulous  respect  with  which  he  bows  to  me  in  the  Champs- 
Elys^es — farewell,  Don  Felipe. 

As  for  society,  I  run  less  risk  in  meeting  my  lover  thus  than 
when  I  smile  to  him  in  the  drawing-rooms  of  Mme.  de  Mau- 
frigneuse  and  the  old  Marquise  de  Beauseant,  where  spies  now 
surround  us  on  every  side;  and  heaven  only  knows  how  people 
stare  at  the  girl,  suspected  of  a  weakness  for  a  grotesque,  like 
Macumer. 

I  cannot  tell  you  to  what  a  state  of  agitation  I  am  reduced 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  239 

by  dreaming  of  this  idea,  and  the  time  I  have  given  to  plan- 
ning its  execution.  I  wanted  you  badly.  What  happy  hours 
we  should  have  chattered  away,  lost  in  the  mazes  of  uncer- 
tainty, enjoying  in  anticipation  all  the  delights  and  horrors 
of  a  first  meeting  in  the  silence  of  night,  under  the  noble 
lime-trees  of  the  Chaulieu  mansion,  with  the  moonlight  danc- 
ing through  the  leaves  !  As  I  sat  alone,  every  nerve  tingling, 
I  cried,  "Oh!  Renee,  where  are  you?"  Then  your  letter 
came,  like  a  match  to  gunpowder,  and  my  last  scruples  went 
by  the  board. 

Through  the  window  I  tossed  to  my  bewildered  adorer  an 
exact  tracing  of  the  key  of  the  little  gate  at  the  end  of  the' 
garden,  together  with  this  note — 

"  Your  madness  must  really  be  put  a  stop  to.  If  you  broke 
your  neck  you  would  ruin  the  reputation  of  the  woman  you 
profess  to  love.  Are  you  worthy  of  a  new  proof  of  regard, 
and  do  you  deserve  that  I  should  talk  with  you  under  the 
limes  at  the  foot  of  the  garden  at  the  hour  when  the  moon 
throws  them  into  shadow?  " 

Yesterday,  at  one  o'clock,  when  Griffith  was  going  to  bed, 
I  said  to  her — 

"  Take  your  shawl,  dear,  and  come  out  with  me.  I  want 
to  go  to  the  bottom  of  the  garden  without  any  one  of  the 
household  knowing." 

Without  a  word,  she  followed  me.  Oh  !  my  Ren^e,  what 
an  awful  moment  when,  after  a  little  pause  full  of  delicious 
thrills  of  agony,  I  saw  him  gliding  along  like  a  shadow. 
When  he  had  reached  the  garden  safely,  I  said  to  Griffith — 

*'  Don't  be  astonished,  but  the  Baron  de  Macumer  is  here, 
and,  indeed,  it  is  on  that  account  I  brought  you  with  me." 

No  reply  from  Griffith. 

*'  What  would  you  have  with  me  ?  "  said  Felipe,  in  a  tone 
of  such  agitation  that  it  was  easy  to  see  he  was  driven  beside 


240  LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES. 

himself  by  the  noise,  slight  as  it  was,  of  our  dresses  in  the 
silence  of  the  night  and  of  our  steps  upon  the  gravel. 

*'  I  want  to  say  to  you  what  I  could  not  write,"  I  replied. 

Grifl&th  withdrew  a  few  steps.  It  was  one  of  those  mild 
nights  when  the  air  is  heavy  with  the  scent  of  flowers.  My 
head  swam  with  the  intoxicating  delight  of  finding  myself 
all  but  alone  with  him  in  the  friendly  shade  of  the  lime-trees, 
beyond  which  lay  the  garden,  shining  all  the  more  brightly 
because  the  white  facade  of  the  house  reflected  the  moonlight. 
The  contrast  seemed,  as  it  were,  an  emblem  of  our  clandestine 
love  leading  up  to  the  glaring  publicity  of  a  wedding.  Neither 
of  us  could  do  more  at  first  than  drink  in  silently  the  ecstasy 
of  a  moment,  as  new  and  marvelous  for  him  as  for  me.  At 
last  I  found  tongue  to  say,  pointing  to  the  elm-tree — 

"Although  I  am  not  afraid  of  scandal,  you  shall  not  climb 
that  tree  again.  We  have  long  enough  played  schoolboy  and 
schoolgirl,  let  us  rise  now  to  the  height  of  our  destiny.  Had 
the  fall  killed  you,  I  should  have  died  disgraced " 

I  looked  at  him.     Every  scrap  of  color  had  left  his  face. 

"And  if  you  had  been  found  there,  suspicion  would  have 
attached  either  to  my  mother  or  myself." 

"Forgive  me,"  he  murmured. 

"  If  you  walk  along  the  boulevard,  I  shall  hear  your  step ; 
and  when  I  want  to  see  you,  I  will  open  my  window.  But 
I  would  not  run  such  a  risk  unless  some  emergency  arose. 
Why  have  you  forced  me  by  your  rash  act  to  commit  another, 
and  one  which  may  lower  me  in  your  eyes?" 

The  tears  which  I  saw  in  his  eyes  were  to  me  the  most 
eloquent  of  answers. 

"What  I  have  done  to-night,"  I  went  on  with  a  smile, 
"must  seem  to  you  the  height  of  madness." 

After  we  had  walked  up  and  down  in  silence  more  than 
once,  he  recovered  composure  enough  to  say — 

"You  must  think  me  a  fool;  and,  indeed,  the  delirium  of 
my  joy  has  robbed  me  of  both  nerve  and  wits.     But  of  this 


LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES.  241 

at  least  be  assured,  whatever  you  do  is  sacred  in  my  eyes  from 
the  very  fact  that  it  seemed  right  to  you.  I  honor  you  as  I 
honor  my  God  beside.     And  then,  Miss  Griffith  is  here." 

*'  She  is  here  for  the  sake  of  others,  not  for  us,"  I  put  in 
hastily. 

My  dear,  he  understood  me  at  once. 

"  I  know  very  well,"  he  said,  with  the  humblest  glance  at 
me,  '*  that  whether  she  is  there  or  not  makes  no  difference. 
Unseen  of  men,  we  are  still  in  the  presence  of  God,  and  our 
own  esteem  is  not  less  important  to  us  than  that  of  the  world." 

"Thank  you,  Felipe,"  I  said,  holding  out  my  hand  to  hhn 
with  a  gesture  which  you  ought  to  see.  "A  woman,  and  I 
am  nothing  if  not  a  woman,  is  on  the  road  to  loving  the  man 
who  understands  her.  Oh!  only  on  the  road,"  I  went  on, 
with  a  finger  on  my  lips.  "  Don't  let  your  hopes  carry  you 
beyond  what  I  say.  My  heart  will  belong  only  to  the  man 
who  can  read  it  and  know  its  every  turn.  Our  views,  without 
being  absolutely  identical,  must  be  the  same  in  their  breadth 
and  elevation.  I  have  no  wish  to  exaggerate  my  own  merits ; 
doubtless  what  seem  virtues  in  my  eyes  have  their  corre- 
sponding defects.  All  I  can  say  is,  I  should  be  heartbroken 
without  them." 

"  Having  first  accepted  me  as  your  servant,  you  now  permit 
me  to  love  you,"  he  said,  trembling  and  looking  in  my  face 
at  each  word.  "My  first  prayer  has  been  more  than  an- 
swered." 

"But,"  I  hastened  to  reply,  "your  position  seems  to  me 
a  better  one  than  mine.  I  should  not  object  to  change  places, 
and  this  change  it  lies  with  you  to  bring  about." 

"In  my  turn,  I  thank  you,"  he  replied.  "I  know  the 
duties  of  a  faithful  lover.  It  is  mine  to  prove  that  I  .am 
worthy  of  you  ;  the  trials  shall  be  as  long  as  you  choose  to 
make  them.  If  I  belie  your  hopes,  you  have  only — God  ! 
that  I  should  say  it — to  reject  me." 

"I  know  that  you  love  me,"  I  replied.  "Sofar,*'  with  a 
16 


242  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

cruel  emphasis  on  the  words,  **  you  stand  first  in  my  regard. 
Otherwise  you  would  not  be  here." 

Then  we  began  again  to  walk  up  and  down  as  we  talked,  and  I 
must  say  that  so  soon  as  my  Spaniard  had  recovered  himself 
he  put  forth  the  genuine  eloquence  of  the  heart.  It  was  not 
passion  it  breathed,  but  a  marvelous  tenderness  of  feeling, 
which  he  beautifully  compared  to  the  divine  love.  His 
thrilling  voice,  which  lent  an  added  charm  to  thoughts,  in 
themselves  so  exquisite,  reminded  me  of  the  nightingale's 
note.  He  spoke  low,  using  only  the  middle  tones  of  a  fine 
instrument,  and  words  flowed  upon  words  with  the  rush  of  a 
torrent.     It  was  the  overflow  of  the  heart. 

"  No  more,"  I  said,  "  or  I  shall  not  be  able  to  tear  myself 
away." 

And  with  a  gesture  I  dismissed  him. 

"You  have  committed  yourself  now,  mademoiselle,"  said 
Griffith. 

"In  England  that  might  be  so,  but  not  in  France,"  I 
replied  with  nonchalance.  "  I  intend  to  make  a  love  match, 
and  am  feeling  my  way — that  is  all." 

You  see,  dear,  as  love  did  not  come  to  me,  I  had  to  do  as 
Mahomet  did  with  the  mountain. 

Friday. 
Once  more  I  have  seen  my  slave.  He  has  become  very 
timid,  and  puts  on  an  air  of  pious  devotion,  which  I  like,  for  it 
seems  to  say  that  he  feels  my  power  and  fascination  in  every 
fibre.  But  nothing  in  his  look  or  manner  can  rouse  in  these 
society  sibyls  any  suspicion  of  the  boundless  love  which  I  see. 
Don't  suppose  though,  dear,  that  I  am  carried  away,  mastered, 
tamed ;  on  the  contrary,  the  taming,  mastering,  and  carrying 
away  are  on  my  side.  In  short,  I  am  quite  capable  of  reason. 
Oh !  to  feel  again  the  terror  of  that  fascination  in  which  I 
was  held  by  the  schoolmaster,  the  plebeian,  the  man  I  kept  at 
a  distance ! 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES,  243 

The  fact  is  that  love  is  of  two  kinds — one  which  commands, 
and  one  which  obeys.  The  two  are  quite  distinct,  and  the 
passion  to  which  the  one  gives  rise  is  not  the  passion  of  the 
other.  To  get  her  full  of  life,  perhaps,  a  woman  ought  to 
have  experience  of  both.  Can  the  two  passions  ever  coexist  ? 
Can  the  man  in  whom  we  inspire  love  inspire  it  in  us  ?  Will 
the  day  ever  come  when  Felipe  is  my  master  ?  Shall  I  tremble 
then,  as  he  does  now  ?  These  are  questions  which  make  me 
shudder. 

He  is  very  blind  !  In  his  place  I  should  have  thought  Mile. 
de  Chaulieu,  meeting  me  under  the  limes,  a  cold,  calculating 
coquette,  with  starched  manners.  No,  that  is  not  love,  it  is 
playing  with  fire.  I  am  still  fond  of  Felipe,  but  I  am  calm 
and  at  my  ease  with  him  now.  No  more  obstacles  !  What  a 
terrible  thought !  It  is  all  ebb-tide  within,  and  I  fear  to 
question  my  heart.  His  mistake  was  in  concealing  the  ardor 
of  his  love ;  he  ought  to  have  forced  my  self-control. 

In  a  word,  I  was  naughty,  and  I  have  not  got  the  reward 
such  naughtiness  brings.  No,  dear  one,  however  sweet  the 
memory  of  that  half-hour  beneath  the  trees,  it  is  nothing  like 
the  excitement  of  the  old  time  with  its:  "  Shall  I  go?  Shall 
I  not  go?     Shall  I  write  to  him  ?     Shall  I  not  write?  " 

Is  it  thus  with  all  our  pleasures  ?  Is  suspense  better  than 
enjoyment?  Hope  than  fruition?  Is  it  the  rich  who  in  very 
truth  are  the  poor?  Have  we  not  both  perhaps  exaggerated 
feeling  by  giving  to  imagination  too  free  a  rein  ?  There  are 
times  when  this  thought  freezes  me.  Shall  I  tell  you  why? 
Because  I  am  meditating  another  visit  to  the  bottom  of  the 
garden — without  Griffith.  Where  should  I  get  to  then? 
How  far  could  I  go  in  this  direction  ?  Imagination  knows 
no  limit,  but  it  is  not  so  with  pleasure.  Tell  me,  dear  be- 
corseted  philosopher,  how  can  one  reconcile  the  two  goals  of 
a  woman's  existence  ?  One  thing  is  certain,  things  are  most 
unsatisfactory  as  they  are. 


244  LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

XXII. 
LOUISE    TO    FfiLIPE. 

I  am  not  pleased  with  you.  If  you  did  not  cry  over 
Racine's  "Berenice,"  and  feel  it  to  be  the  most  terrible  of 
tragedies,  there  is  no  kinship  in  our  souls  ;  we  shall  never  get 
on  together,  and  had  better  break  off  at  once.  Let  us  meet 
no  more.  Forget  me;  for  if  I  do  not  have  a  satisfactory 
reply,  I  shall  forget  you.  You  will  become  M.  le  Baron  de 
Macumer  for  me,  or  rather  you  will  cease  to  be  at  all. 

Yesterday  at  Mme.  d'Espard's  you  had  a  self-satisfied  air 
which  disgusted  me.  No  doubt,  apparently,  about  your  con- 
quest I  In  sober  earnest,  your  self-possession  alarms  me. 
Not  a  trace  in  you  of  the  humble  slave  of  your  first  letter. 
Far  from  betraying  the  absent-mindedness  of  a  lover,  you 
polished  epigrams  !  This  is  not  the  attitude  of  a  true  believer, 
always  prostrate  before  his  divinity. 

If  you  do  not  feel  me  to  be  the  very  breath  of  your  life,  a 
being  nobler  than  other  women,  and  to  be  judged  by  other 
standards,  then  I  must  be  less  than  a  woman  in  your  sight. 
You  have  roused  in  me  a  spirit  of  mistrust,  Felipe,  and  its 
angry  mutterings  have  drowned  the  accents  of  tenderness. 
When  I  look  back  upon  what  has  passed  between  us,  I  feel  in 
truth  that  I  have  a  right  to  be  suspicious.  For  know,  Prime 
Minister  of  all  the  Spains,  that  I  have  reflected  much  on  the 
defenseless  condition  of  our  sex.  My  innocence  has  held  a 
torch,  and  my  fingers  are  not  burnt. 

Let  me  repeat  to  you,  then,  what  my  youthful  experience 
taught  me. 

In  all  other  matters,  duplicity,  faithlessness,  and  broken 
pledges  are  brought  to  book  and  punished ;  but  not  so  with 
love,  which  is  at  once  the  victim,  the  accuser,  the  counsel, 
judge,  and  executioner.      The  cruelest  treachery,  the  most 


LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES.  245 

heartless  crimes,  are  those  which  remain  for  ever  concealed, 
with  two  hearts  alone  for  witness.  How  indeed  should  the 
victim  proclaim  them  without  injury  to  herself?  Love,  there- 
fore, has  its  own  code,  its  own  penal  system,  with  which  the 
world  has  no  concern. 

Now,  for  my  part,  I  have  resolved  never  to  pardon  a  serious 
misdemeanor,  and  in  love,  pray,  what  is  not  serious  ?  Yester- 
day you  had  all  the  air  of  a  man  successful  in  his  suit.  You 
would  be  wrong  to  doubt  it ;  and  yet,  if  this  assurance  robbed 
you  of  the  charming  simplicity  which  sprang  from  uncertainty, 
I  should  blame  you  severely.  I  would  have  you  neither  bash- 
ful nor  self-complacent ;  I  would  not  have  you  in  terror  of 
losing  my  affection — that  would  be  an  insult — but  neither 
would  I  have  you  wear  your  love  lightly  as  a  thing  of  course. 
Never  should  your  heart  be  freer  than  mine.  If  you  know 
nothing  of  the  torture  that  a  single  stab  of  doubt  brings  to  the 
soul,  tremble  lest  I  give  you  a  lesson  ! 

In  a  single  glance  I  confided  my  heart  to  you,  and  you  read 
the  meaning.  The  purest  feelings  that  ever  took  root  in  a 
young  girl's  breast  are  yours.  The  thought  and  meditation 
of  which  I  have  told  you  served  indeed  only  to  enrich  the 
mind ;  but  if  ever  the  wounded  heart  turns  to  the  brain  for 
counsel,  be  sure  the  young  girl  would  show  some  kinship  with 
the  demon  of  knowledge  and  of  daring. 

I  swear  to  you,  Felipe,  if  you  love  me,  as  I  believe  you  do, 
and  if  I  have  reason  to  suspect  the  least  falling  off  in  the  fear, 
obedience,  and  respect  which  you  have  hitherto  professed,  if 
the  pure  flame  of  passion  which  first  kindled  the  fire  of  my 
heart  should  seem  to  me  any  day  to  burn  less  vividly,  you 
need  fear  no  reproaches.  I  would  not  weary  you  with  letters 
bearing  any  trace  of  weakness,  pride,  or  anger,  nor  even  with 
one  of  warning  like  this.  But  if  I  spoke  no  words,  Felipe, 
my  face  would  tell  you  that  death  f^3&  near.  And  yet  I  should 
not  die  till  I  had  branded  you  with  infamy,  and  sown  eternal 
sorrow  in  your  heart  \  you  would  see  the  girl  you  loved  dis- 


246  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

honored  and  lost  in  this  world,  and  know  her  doomed  to 
everlasting  suffering  in  the  next. 

Do  not  therefore,  I  implore  you,  give  me  cause  to  envy  the 
old,  happy  Louise,  the  object  of  your  pure  worship,  whose 
heart  expanded  in  the  sunshine  of  happiness,  since,  in  the 
words  of  Dante,  she  possessed :  "  Senza  brama,  sicura  ric- 
chezza  !  "  I  have  searched  the  "Inferno"  through  to  find 
the  most  terrible  punishment,  some  torture  of  the  mind  to 
which  I  miglu  link  the  vengeance  of  God. 

Yesterday,  as  I  watched  you,  doubt  went  through  me  like  a 
sharp,  cold  dagger's  point.  Do  you  know  what  that  means  ? 
I  mistrusted  you,  and  the  pang  was  so  terrible,  I  could  not 
endure  it  longer.  If  my  service  be  too  hard,  leave  it,  I  would 
not  keep  you.  Do  I  need  any  proof  of  your  cleverness? 
Keep  for  me  the  flowers  of  your  wit.  Show  to  others  no  fine 
surface  to  call  forth  flattery,  compliments,  or  praise.  Come 
to  me,  laden  with  hatred  or  scorn,  the  butt  of  calumny,  come 
to  me  with  the  news  that  women  flout  you  and  ignore  you,  and 
not  one  loves  you  ;  then,  ah  !  then  you  will  know  the  treasures 
of  Louise's  heart  and  love. 

We  are  only  rich  when  our  wealth  is  buried  so  deep  that  all 
the  world  might  trample  it  under  foot,  unknowing.  If  you 
were  handsome,  I  don't  suppose  I  should  have  looked  at  you 
twice,  or  discovered  one  of  the  thousand  reasons  out  of  which 
my  love  sprang.  True,  we  know  no  more  of  these  reasons 
than  we  know  why  it  is  the  sun  makes  the  flowers  to  bloom, 
and  ripens  the  fruit.  Yet  I  could  tell  you  of  one  reason  very 
dear  to  me. 

The  character,  expression,  and  individuality  that  ennoble 
your  face  are  a  sealed  book  to  all  but  me.  Mine  is  the  power 
which  transforms  you  into  the  most  lovable  of  men,  and  that 
is  why  I  would  keep  your  mental  gifts  also  for  myself.  To 
others  they  should  be  as  meaningless  as  your  eyes,  the  charm 
of  your  mouth  and  features.  Let  it  be  mine  alone  to  kindle 
the  beacon  of  your  intelligence,  as  I  bring  the  love-light  into 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  247 

your  eyes.  I  would  have  you  the  Spanish  grandee  of  old  days, 
cold,  ungracious,  haughty,  a  monument  to  be  gazed  at  from 
afar,  like  the  ruins  of  some  barbaric  power,  which  no  one  ven- 
tures to  explore.  Now,  you  have  nothing  better  to  do  than  to 
open  up  pleasant  promenades  for  the  public,  and  show  yourself 
off  a  Parisian  affability  ! 

Is  my  ideal  portrait,  then,  forgotten?  Your  excessive 
cheerfulness  was  redolent  of  your  love.  Had  it  not  been  for 
a  restraining  glance  from  me,  you  would  have  proclaimed  to 
the  most  sharp-sighted,  keen-witted,  and  unsparing  of  Paris 
salons,  that  your  inspiration  was  drawn  from  Armande-Louise- 
Marie  de  Chaulieu. 

I  believe  in  your  greatness  too  much  to  think  for  a  moment 
that  your  love  is  ruled  by  policy ;  but  if  you  did  not  show  a 
childlike  simplicity  when  with  me,  I  could  only  pity  you. 
Despite  this  first  fault,  you  are  still  deeply  admired  by 

Louise  de  Chaulieu. 


XXIII.  \ 

FiLIPE   TO   LOUISE. 

When  God  beholds  our  faults.  He  sees  also  our  repentance. 
Yes,  my  beloved  mistress,  you  are  right.  I  felt  that  I  had 
displeased  you,  but  knew  not  how.  Now  that  you  have  ex- 
plained the  cause  of  your  trouble,  I  find  in  it  fresh  motive  to 
adore  you.  Like  the  God  of  Israel,  you  are  a  jealous  deity, 
and  I  rejoice  to  see  it.  For  what  is  holier  and  more  precious 
than  jealousy  ?  My  fair  guardian  angel,  jealousy  is  an  ever- 
wakeful  sentinel ;  it  is  to  love  what  pain  is  to  the  body,  the 
faithful  herald  of  evil.  Be  jealous  of  your  servant,  Louise,  I 
beg  of  you ;  the  harder  you  strike,  the  more  contrite  will  he 
be  and  kiss  the  rod,  in  all  submiS^on,  which  proves  that  he  is 
not  indifferent  to  you. 

But,  alas !   dear,  if  the  pains  it  cost  me  to  vanquish  my 


248  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

timidity  and  master  feelings  you  thought  so  feeble  were  in- 
visible to  you,  will  heaven,  think  you,  reward  them?  I 
assure  you,  it  needed  no  slight  effort  to  show  myself  to  you  as 
I  was  in  the  days  before  I  loved.  At  Madrid  I  was  considered 
a  good  talker,  and  I  wanted  you  to  see  for  yourself  the  few 
gifts  I  may  possess.  If  this  were  vanity,  it  has  been  well 
punished. 

Your  last  glance  utterly  unnerved  me.  Never  had  I  so 
quailed,  even  when  the  army  of  France  was  at  the  gates  of 
Cadiz  and  I  read  peril  for  my  life  in  the  dissembling  words  of 
my  royal  master.  Vainly  I  tried  to  discover  the  cause  of 
your  displeasure,  and  the  lack  of  sympathy  between  us  which 
this  fact  disclosed  was  terrible  to  me.  For  in  truth  I  have  no 
wish  but  to  act  by  your  will,  think  your  thoughts,  see  with 
your  eyes,  respond  to  your  joy  and  suffering,  as  my  body 
responds  to  heat  and  cold.  The  crime  and  the  anguish  lay 
for  me  in  the  breach  of  unison  in  that  common  life  of  feeling 
which  you  have  made  so  fair, 

"I  have  vexed  her!"  I  exclaimed  over  and  over  again, 
like  one  distraught.  My  noble,  my  beautiful  Louise,  if  any- 
thing could  increase  the  fervor  of  my  devotion  or  confirm  my 
belief  in  your  delicate  moral  intuitions,  it  would  be  the  new 
light  which  your  words  have  thrown  upon  my  own  feelings. 
Much  in  them,  of  which  my  mind  was  formerly  but  dimly 
conscious,  you  have  now  made  clear.  If  this  be  designed  as 
chastisement,  what  can  be  the  sweetness  of  your  dearly  antic- 
ipated rewards? 

Louise,  for  me  it  was  happiness  enough  to  be  accepted  as 
your  servant.  You  have  given  me  the  life  of  which  I  despaired. 
No  longer  do  I  draw  a  useless  breath,  I  have  something  to 
spend  myself  for ;  my  force  has  an  outlet,  if  only  in  suffering 
for  you.  Once  more  I  say,  as  I  have  said  before,  that  you 
will  never  find  me  other  than  I  was  when  first  I  offered  myself 
as  your  lowly  bondman.  Yes,  were  you  dishonored  and  lost, 
to  use  your  own  words,  my  heart  would  only  cling  the  more 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  249 

closely  to  you  for  your  self-sought  misery.  It  would  be  my 
care  to  stanch  your  wounds,  and  my  prayers  should  im- 
portune God  with  the  story  of  your  innocence  and  your 
wrongs. 

Did  I  not  tell  you  that  the  feelings  of  my  heart  for  you  are 
not  a  lover's  only,  that  I  will  be  to  you  father,  mother,  sister, 
brother — ay,  a  whole  family — anything  or  nothing,  as  you 
may  decree  ?  And  is  it  not  your  own  wish  which  has  confined 
within  the  eompass  of  a  lover's  feeling  so  many  varying  forms 
of  devotion  ?  Pardon  me,  then,  if  at  times  the  father  and 
brother  disappear  behind  the  lover,  since  you  know  they  are 
none  the  less  there,  though  screened  from  view.  Would  that 
you  could  read  the  feelings  of  my  heart  when  you  appear  be- 
fore me,  radiant  in  your  beauty,  the  centre  of  admiring  eyes, 
reclining  calmly  in  your  carriage  in  the  Champs-Elysees,  or 
seated  in  your  box  at  the  opera !  Then  would  you  know  how 
absolutely  free  from  selfish  taint  is  the  pride  with  which  I  hear 
the  praises  of  your  loveliness  and  grace,  praises  which  warm 
my  heart  even  to  the  strangers  who  utter  them  !  When  by 
chance  you  have  raised  me  to  elysium  by  a  friendly  greeting, 
my  pride  is  mingled  with  humility,  and  I  depart  as  though 
God's  blessing  rested  on  me.  Nor  does  the  joy  vanish  with- 
out leaving  a  long  track  of  light  behind.  It  breaks  on  me 
through  the  clouds  of  my  cigarette  smoke.  More  than  ever 
do  I  feel  how  every  drop  of  this  surging  blood  throbs  for 
you. 

Can  you  be  ignorant  how  you  are  loved  ?  After  seeing  you, 
I  return  to  my  study,  and  the  glitter  of  its  Saracenic  orna- 
ments sinks  to  nothing  before  the  brightness  of  your  portrait, 
when  I  open  the  spring  that  keeps  it  locked  up  from  every  eye 
and  lose  myself  in  endless  musings  or  link  my  happiness  to 
verse.  From  the  heights  of  heaven  I  look  down  upon  the 
course  of  a  life  such  as  my  hopes  dare  to  picture  it !  Have 
you  never,  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  or  through  the  roar  of 
the  town,  heard  the  whisper  of  a  voice  in  your  sweet,  dainty 


250  LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES, 

ear?  Does  no  one  of  the  thousand  prayers  that  I  speed  to 
you  reach  home? 

By  dint  of  silent  contemplation  of  your  pictured  face,  I 
have  succeeded  in  deciphering  the  expression  of  every  feature 
and  tracing  its  connection  with  some  grace  of  the  spirit,  and 
then  I  pen  a  sonnet  to  you  in  Spanish  on  the  harmony  of  the 
twofold  beauty  in  which  nature  has  clothed  you.  These  son- 
nets you  will  never  see,  for  my  poetry  is  too  unworthy  of  its 
theme,  I  dare  not  send  it  to  you.  Not  a  moment  passes  with- 
out thoughts  of  you,  for  my  whole  being  is  bound  up  in  you, 
and  if  you  ceased  to  be  its  animating  principle,  every  part 
would  ache. 

Now,  Louise,  can  you  realize  the  torture  to  me  of  knowing 
that  I  had  displeased  you,  while  entirely  ignorant  of  the  cause  ? 
The  ideal  double  life  which  seemed  so  fair  was  cut  short.  My 
heart  turned  to  ice  within  me  as,  hopeless  of  any  other  ex- 
planation, I  concluded  that  you  had  ceased  to  love  me.  With 
heavy  heart,  and  yet  not  wholly  without  comfort,  I  was  falling 
back  upon  my  old  post  as  servant ;  then  your  letter  came  and 
turned  all  to  joy.  Oh !  might  I  but  listen  for  ever  to  such 
chiding ! 

Once  a  child,  picking  himself  up  from  a  tumble,  turned  to 
his  mother  with  the  words  "Forgive  me."  Hiding  his  own 
hurt,  he  sought  pardon  for  the  pain  he  had  caused  her. 
Louise,  I  was  that  child,  and  such  as  I  was  then,  I  am  now. 
Here  is  the  key  to  my  character,  which  your  slave  in  all 
humility  places  in  your  hands. 

But  do  not  fear,  there  will  be  no  more  stumbling.  Keep 
taut  the  chain  which  binds  me  to  you,  so  that  a  touch  may 
communicate  your  slightest  wish  to  him  who  will  ever  remain 
your  slave,       -  Felipe. 


LETTERS   OF   TWO   BRIDES.  251 

XXIV. 
LOUISE   DE    CHAULIEU   TO   RENEE   DE   l'eSTORADE. 

October,  1825. 

My  dear  Friend  : — How  is  it  possible  that  you,  who 
brought  yourself  in  two  months  to  marry  a  broken-down  in- 
valid in  order  to  mother  him,  should  know  anything  of  that 
terrible  shifting  drama,  enacted  in  the  recesses  of  the  heart, 
which  we  call  love — a  drama  where  death  lies  in  a  glance  or 
a  light  reply  ? 

I  had  reserved  for  Felipe  one  last  supreme  test  which  was 
to  be  decisive.  I  wanted  to  know  whether  his  love  was  the 
love  of  a  Royalist  for  his  King,  who  can  do  no  wrong.  Why 
should  the  loyalty  of  a  Catholic  be  less  supreme  ? 

He  walked  with  me  a  whole  night  under  the  limes  at  the 
bottom  of  the  garden,  and  not  a  shadow  of  suspicion  crossed 
his  soul.  Next  day  he  loved  me  better,  but  the  feeling  was 
as  reverent,  as  humble,  as  respectful  as  ever ;  he  had  not  pre- 
sumed an  iota.  Oh  !  he  is  a  very  Spaniard,  a  very  Abencer- 
rage.  He  scaled  my  wall  to  come  and  kiss  the  hand  which 
in  the  darkness  I  reached  down  to  him  from  my  balcony. 
He  might  have  broken  his  neck  ;  how  many  of  our  young 
men  would  do  the  like  ? 

But  all  this  is  nothing ;  Christians  suffer  the  horrible  pangs 
of  martyrdom  in  the  hope  of  heaven.  The  day  before  yester- 
day I  took  aside  the  royal  ambassador-to-be  at  the  Court  of 
Spain,  my  much  respected  father,  and  said  to  him  with  a 
smile — 

"Sir,  some  of  your  friends  will  have  it  that  you  are  marry- 
ing your  dear  Armande  to  the  nephew  of  an  ambassador  who 
has  been  very  anxious  for  this  connection,  and  has  long  begged 
for  it.  Also,  that  the  marriage-contract  arranges  for  his 
nephew  to  succeed  on  his  death  to  his  enormous  fortune  and 


252  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

his  title,  and  bestows  on  the  young  couple  in  the  meantime 
an  income  of  a  hundred  thousand  livres,  on  the  bride  a  dowry 
of  eight  hundred  thousand  francs.  Your  daughter  weeps,  but 
bows  to  the  unquestioned  authority  of  her  honored  parent. 
Some  people  are  unkind  enough  to  say  that,  behind  her  tears, 
she  conceals  a  worldly  and  ambitious  soul. 

"Now,  we  are  going  to  the  gentleman's  box  at  the  opera 
to-night,  and  M.  le  Baron  de  Macumer  will  visit  us  there." 

"  Macumer  needs  a  touch  of  the  spur  then,"  said  my  father, 
smiling  at  me,  as  though  I  were  a  female  ambassador. 

"You  mistake  Clarissa  Harlowe  for  Figaro  !  "  I  cried,  with 
a  glance  of  scorn  and  mockery.  "  When  you  see  me  with  my 
right  hand  ungloved,  you  will  give  the  lie  to  this  impertinent 
gossip,  and  will  mark  your  displeasure  at  it." 

"  I  may  make  my  mind  easy  about  your  future.  You  have 
no  more  got  a  girl's  headpiece  than  Jeanne  d'Arc  had  a 
woman's  heart.  You  will  be  happy,  you  will  love  nobody, 
and  will  allow  yourself  to  be  loved." 

This  was  too  much.     I  burst  into  laughter. 

"What  is  it,  little  flirt?"  he  said. 

"  I  tremble  for  my  country's  interests " 

And  seeing  him  look  quite  blank,  I  added — 

"At  Madrid!" 

"You  have  no  idea  how  this  little  nun  has  learned,  in  a 
year's  time,  to  make  fun  of  her  father,"  he  said  to  the  duchess. 

"  Armande  makes  light  of  everything,"  my  mother  replied, 
looking  me  in  the  face. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Why,  you  are  not  even  afraid  of  rheumatism  on  these 
damp  nights,"  she  said,  with  another  meaning  glance  at  me. 

"  Oh  !  "  I  answered,  "  the  mornings  are  so  hot !  " 

The  duchess  looked  down. 

"It's  high  time  she  were  married,"  said  ray  father,  "and 
it  had  better  be  before  I  go." 

"If  you  wish  it,"  I  replied  demurely. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  .253 

Two  hours  later,  my  mother  and  I,  the  Duchesse  de  Mau- 
frigneuse  and  Mme.  d'Espard,  were  all  four  blooming  like 
roses  in  the  front  of  the  box.  I  had  seated  myself  sideways, 
giving  only  a  shoulder  to  the  house,  so  that  I  could  see  every- 
thing, myself  unseen,  in  that  spacious  box  which  fills  one  of 
the  two  angles  at  the  back  of  the  hall,  between  the  columns. 

Macumer  came,  stood  up,  and  put  his  opera-glasses  before 
his  eyes  so  that  he  might  be  able  to  look  at  me  comfortably. 

In  the  first  interval  entered  the  young  man  whom  I  call 
**  king  of  the  profligates."  The  Comte  Henri  de  Marsay, 
who  has  great  beauty  of  an  effeminate  kind,  entered  the  box 
with  an  epigram  in  his  eyes,  a  smile  upon  his  lips,  and  an  air 
of  satisfaction  over  his  whole  countenance.  He  first  greeted 
my  mother,  Mme.  d'Espard,  and  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrig- 
neuse,  the  Comte  d'Esgrignon,  and  M.  de  Canalis;  then 
turning  to  me,  he  said — 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  I  shall  be  the  first  to  congratulate 
you  on  an  event  which  will  make  you  the  object  of  envy  to 
many. ' ' 

"Ah!  a  marriage  !  "  I  cried.  "  Is  it  left  for  me,  a  girl 
fresh  from  the  convent,  to  tell  you  that  predicted  marriages 
never  come  off." 

M.  de  Marsay  bent  down,  whispering  to  Macumer,  and  I 
was  convinced,  from  the  movement  of  his  lips,  that  what  he 
said  was  this — 

"Baron,  you  are  perhaps  in  love  with  that  little  coquette, 
who  has  used  you  for  her  own  ends ',  but  as  the  question  is 
one  not  of  love,  but  of  marriage,  it  is  as  well  for  you  to  know 
what  is  going  on." 

Macumer  treated  this  officious  scandalmonger  to  one  of 
those  glances  of  his  which  seemed  to  me  so  eloquent  of  noble 
scorn,  and  replied  to  the  effect  that  he  was  **  not  in  love  with 
any  little  coquette."  His  whole  bearing  so  delighted  me, 
that  directly  I  caught  sight  of  my  father,  the  glove  was  off. 

Felipe  had  not  a  shadow  of  fear  or  doubt.     How  well  did 


254  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

he  bear  out  my  expectations  !  His  faith  is  only  in  me,  society 
cannot  hurt  him  with  its  lies.  Not  a  muscle  of  the  Arab's 
face  stirred,  not  a  drop  of  the  blue  blood  fluslied  his  olive 
cheek. 

The  two  young  counts  went  out,  and  I  said,  laughing,  to 
Macumer — 

"  M.  de  Marsay  has  been  treating  you  to  an  epigram  on 
me." 

"He  did  more,"  he  replied.     "It  was  an  epithalamium." 

"You  speak  Greek  to  me,"  I  said,  rewarding  him  with  a 
smile  and  a  certain  look  which  always  embarrasses  him. 

My  father  meantime  was  talking  to  Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse. 

"  I  should  think  so  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  The  gossip  which 
gets  about  is  scandalous.  No  sooner  has  a  girl  come  out  than 
every  one  is  keen  to  marry  her,  and  the  ridiculous  stories  that 
are  invented  !  I  shall  never  force  Armande  to  marry  against 
her  will.  I  am  going  to  take  a  turn  in  the  promenade,  other- 
wise people  will  be  saying  that  I  allowed  the  rumor  to  spread 
in  order  to  suggest  the  marriage  to  the  ambassador;  and 
Caesar's  daughter  ought  to  be  above  suspicion,  even  more  than 
his  wife — if  that  were  possible." 

The  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  and  Mme.  d'Espard  shot 
glances  first  at  my  mother,  then  at  the  baron,  brimming  over 
with  sly  intelligence  and  repressed  curiosity.  With  their 
serpent's  cunning  they  had  at  last  got  an  inkling  of  something 
going  on.  Of  all  mysteries  in  life,  love  is  the  least  mysterious  ! 
It  exhales  from  women,  I  believe,  like  a  perfume,  and  she 
who  can  conceal  it  is  a  very  monster !  Our  eyes  prattle  even 
more  than  our  tongues. 

Having  enjoyed  the  delightful  sensation  of  finding  Felipe 
rise  to  the  occasion,  as  I  had  wished,  it  was  only  in  nature  I 
should  hunger  for  more.  So  I  made  the  signal  agreed  on  for 
telling  him  that  he  might  come  to  my  window  by  the  danger- 
ous road  you  know  of.  A  few  hours  later  I  found  him,  up- 
right as  a  statue,  glued  to  the  wall,  his  hand  resting  on  the 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  255 

balcony  of  my  window,  studying  the  reflections  of  the  light  in 
my  room. 

"My  dear  Felipe,"  I  said,  "you  have  acquitted  yourself 
well  to-night  \  you  behaved  exactly  as  I  should  have  done  had 
I  been  told  that  you  were  on  the  point  of  marrying." 

"  I  thought,"  he  replied,  "  that  you  would  hardly  have  told 
others  before  me." 

"And  what  right  have  you  to  this  privilege?" 

"The  right  of  one  who  is  your  devoted  slave." 

"In  very  truth?" 

"I  am,  and  shall  ever  remain  so." 

"But  suppose  this  marriage  were  inevitable;  suppose  that  I 
had  agreed ' ' 

Two  flashing  glances  lit  up  the  moonlight — one  directed  to 
me,  the  other  to  the  precipice  which  the  wall  made  for  us. 
He  seemed  to  calculate  whether  a  fall  together  would  mean 
death ;  but  the  thought  merely  passed  like  lightning  over  his 
face  and  sparkled  in  his  eyes.  A  power,  stronger  than  pas- 
sion, checked  the  impulse. 

"An  Arab  cannot  take  back  his  word,"  he  said  in  a  husky 
voice.  "  I  am  your  slave  to  do  with  as  you  will;  my  life  is 
not  mine  to  destroy." 

The  hand  on  the  balcony  seemed  as  though  its  hold  were 
relaxing.     I  placed  mine  on  it  as  I  said — 

"  Felipe,  my  beloved,  from  this  moment  I  am  your  wife  in 
thought  and  will.  Go  in  the  morning  to  ask  my  father  for 
my  hand.  He  wishes  to  retain  my  fortune  ;  but  if  you  promise 
to  acknowledge  receipt  of  it  in  the  contract,  his  consent  will 
no  doubt  be  given.  I  am  no  longer  Armande  de  Chaulieu. 
Leave  me  at  once ;  no  breath  of  scandal  must  touch  Louise  de 
Macumer." 

He  listened  with  blanched  face  and  trembling  limbs,  then, 
like  a  flash,  had  cleared  the  ten  feet  to  the  ground  in  safety. 
It  was  a  moment  of  agony,  but  he  waved  his  hand  to  me  and 
disappeared. 


256  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

"  I  am  loved  then,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  as  never  woman  was 
before."  And  I  fell  asleep  in  the  calm  content  of  a  child, 
my  destiny  for  ever  fixed. 

About  two  o'clock  next  day  my  father  summoned  me  to  his 
private  room,  where  I  found  the  duchess  and  Macumer. 
Tliere  was  an  interchange  of  civilities.  I  replied  quite  simply 
that  if  my  father  and  M.  Henarez  were  of  one  mind,  I  had  no 
reason  to  oppose  their  wishes.  Thereupon  my  mother  invited 
the  baron  to  dinner ;  and,  after  dinner,  we  all  four  went  for  a 
drive  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  where  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
smiling  ironically  to  M.  de  Marsay  as  he  passed  on  horseback 
and  caught  sight  of  de  Macumer  sitting  opposite  us  beside  my 
father. 

My  bewitching  Felipe  has  had  his  cards  reprinted  as  fol- 
lows: 

Henarez 
(Baron  de  Macumer,  formerly  Due  de  Soria). 

Every  morning  he  brings  me  with  his  own  hands  a  splendid 
bouquet,  in  which  I  never  fail  to  find  a  letter,  containing  a 
Spanish  sonnet  in  my  honor,  which  he  has  composed  during 
the  night. 

Not  to  make  this  letter  inordinately  large,  I  send  you  as 
specimens  only  the  first  and  last  of  these  sonnets,  which  I 
have  translated  for  your  benefit,  word  for  word,  and  line  for 
line: 

FIRST  , SONNET. 

Many  a  time  I've  stood,  clad  in  thin  silken  vest, 

Drawn  sword  in  hand,  with  steady  pulse, 

Waiting  the  charge  of  a  raging  bull, 

And  the  thrust  of  his  horn,  sharper-pointed  than  Phoebe's  crescent. 

I've  scaled,  on  my  lips  the  lilt  of  an  AndalHsian  dance, 
The  steep  redoubt  under  a  rain  of  fire; 
I've  staked  my  life  upon  a  hazard  of  the  dice. 
Careless,  as  though  it  were  a  gold  doubloon. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  257 

My  hand  would  seek  the  ball  out  of  the  cannon's  mouth, 
But  now  meseems  I  grow  more  timid  than  a  crouching  hare, 
Or  a  child  spying  some  ghost  in  the  curtain's  folds. 

For  when  your  sweet  eye  rests  on  me. 

An  icy  sweat  covers  my  brow,  my  knees  give  way, 

I  tremble,  shrink,  my  courage  gone. 


SECOND  SONNET. 

Last  night  I  fain  would  sleep  to  dream  of  thee, 
But  jealous  sleep  fled  my  eyelids, 
I  sought  the  balcony  and  looked  toward  heaven, 
Always  my  glance  flies  upward  when  I  think  of  thee. 

Strange  sight !  whose  meaning  love  alone  can  tell, 
The  sky  had  lost  its  sapphire  hue. 
The  stars,  dulled  diamonds  in  their  golden  mount. 
Twinkled  no  more  nor  shed  their  warmth. 

The  moon,  washed  of  her  silver  radiance  lily-white. 

Hung  mourning  over  the  gloomy  plain,  for  thou  hast  robbed 

The  heavens  of  all  that  made  them  bright. 

The  snowy  sparkle  of  the  moon  is  on  thy  lovely  brow, 
Heaven's  azure  centres  in  thine  eyes, 
Thy  lashes  fall  like  starry  rays. 

What  more  gracious  way  of  saying  to  a  young  girl  that 
she  fills  your  life?  Tell  me  what  you  think  of  this  love, 
which  expends  itself  in  lavishing  the  treasures  alike  of  the 
heart  and  of  the  soul.  Only  within  the  last  ten  days  have  I 
grasped  the  meaning  of  that  Spanish  gallantry,  so  famous  in 
old  days. 

Ah  me  !  dear,   what  is  going  on  now  at  La  Crampade  ? 

How  often  do  I  take  a  stroll  there,  inspecting  the  growth  of 

our  crops  !     Have  you  no  news  to  give  of  our  mulberry  trees, 

our  last   winter's  plantations?     Does  everything  prosper  as 

17 


258  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

you  wish?  And  while  the  buds  are  opening  on  our  shrubs — 
I  will  not  venture  to  speak  of  the  bedding-out  plants — have 
they  also  blossomed  in  the  bosom  of  the  wife?  Does  Louis 
continue  his  policy  of  madrigals?  Do  you  enter  into  each 
other's  thoughts?  I  wonder  whether  your  little  runlet  of 
wedded  peace  is  better  than  the  raging  torrent  of  my  love ! 
Has  my  sweet  lady  professor  taken  offense?  I  cannot  believe 
it ;  and  if  it  were  so,  I  should  send  Felipe  off  at  once,  post- 
haste, to  fling  himself  at  her  knees  and  bring  back  to  me  my 
pardon  on  her  head.  Sweet  love,  my  life  here  is  a  splendid 
success,  and  I  want  to  know  how  it  fares  with  life  in  Provence. 
We  have  just  increased  our  family  by  the  addition  of  a  Spaniard 
with  the  complexion  of  a  Havana  cigar,  and  your  congratu- 
lations still  tarry. 

Seriously,  my  sweet  Renee,  I  am  anxious.  I  am  afraid  lest 
you  should  be  eating  your  heart  out  in  silence,  for  fear  of 
casting  a  gloom  over  my  sunshine.  Write  to  me  at  once, 
naughty  child !  and  tell  me  your  life  in  its  every  minutest 
detail;  tell  me  whether  you  still  hold  back,  whether  your 
"  independence  "  still  stands  erect,  or  has  fallen  on  its  knees, 
or  is  sitting  down  comfortably,  which  would  indeed  be  serious. 
Can  you  suppose  that  the  incidents  of  your  married  life  are 
without  interest  for  me  ?  I  muse  at  times  over  all  that  you 
have  said  to  me.  Often  when,  at  the  opera,  I  seem  absorbed 
in  watching  the  pirouetting  dancers,  I  am  saying  to  myself, 
"It  is  half-past  nine,  perhaps  she  is  in  bed.  What  is  she 
about?  Is  she  happy?  Is  she  alone  with  her  independence? 
or  has  her  independence  gone  the  way  of  other  dead  and  cast- 
off  independences?" 

A  thousand  loves. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  259 

XXV. 

RENEE  DE   l'ESTORADE   TO   LOUISE   DE   CHAULIEU. 

Saucy  girl !  Why  should  I  write  ?  What  can  I  say  ?  Whilst 
your  life  is  varied  by  social  festivities,  as  well  as  by  the  anguish, 
the  quarrels,  and  the  flowers  of  love — all  of  which  you  describe 
so  graphically,  that  I  might  be  watching  some  first-rate  acting 
at  the  theatre — mine  is  as  monotonous  and  regular  as  though 
it  were  passed  in  a  convent. 

We  always  go  to  bed  at  nine  and  get  up  with  daybreak. 
Our  meals  are  served  with  a  maddening  punctuality.  Nothing 
ever  happens.  I  have  accustomed  myself  without  much  diffi- 
culty to  this  mapping  out  of  the  day,  which  perhaps  is,  after 
all,  in  the  nature  of  things.  Where  would  the  life  of  the  uni- 
verse be  but  for  that  subjection  to  fixed  laws  which,  according 
to  the  astronomers,  so  Louis  tells  me,  rule  the  spheres !  It  is 
not  order  of  which  we  weary. 

Then  I  have  laid  upon  myself  certain  rules  of  dress,  and 
these  occupy  my  time  in  the  mornings.  I  h9ld  it  part  of  my 
duty  as  a  wife  to  look  as  charming  as  possible.  I  feel  a  cer- 
tain satisfaction  in  it,  and  it  causes  lively  pleasure  to  the  good 
old  man  and  to  Louis.  After  lunch,  we  walk.  When  the 
newspapers  arrive,  I  disappear  to  look  after  my  household 
affairs  or  to  read — for  I  read  a  great  deal — or  to  write  you. 
I  come  back  to  the  others  an  hour  before  dinner ;  and  after 
dinner  we  play  cards,  or  receive  visits,  or  pay  them.  Thus 
my  days  pass  between  a  contented  old  man,  who  has  done 
with  passions,  and  the  man  who  owes  his  happiness  to  me. 
Louis'  happiness  is  so  radiant  that  it  has  at  last  warmed  my 
heart. 

For  women,  happiness,  no  doubt,  cannot  consist  in  the  mere 
satisfaction  of  desire.  Sometimes,  in  the  evening,  when  I  am 
not  required  to  take  a  hand  in  the  game,  and  can  sink  back 


280  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

in  my  armchair,  imagination  bears  me  on  its  strong  wings 
into  the  very  heart  of  your  life.  Then,  its  riches,  its  change- 
ful tints,  its  surging  passions  become  my  own,  and  I  ask  my- 
self to  what  end  such  a  stormy  preface  can  lead.  May  it  not 
swallow  up  the  book  itself?  For  you,  my  darling,  the  illusions 
of  love  are  possible ;  for  me,  only  the  facts  of  homely  life  re- 
main.    Yes,  your  love  seems  to  me  a  dream  ! 

Therefore  I  find  it  hard  to  understand  why  you  are  deter- 
mined to  throw  so  much  romance  over  it.  Your  ideal  man 
must  have  more  soul  than  fire,  more  nobility  and  self-command 
than  passion.  You  persist  in  trying  to  clothe  in  living  form 
the  dream  of  a  girl  on  the  threshold  of  life ;  you  demand 
sacrifices  for  the  pleasure  of  rewarding  them ;  you  submit 
your  Felipe  to  tests  in  order  to  ascertain  whether  desire,  hope, 
and  curiosity  are  enduring  in  their  nature.  But,  child,  be- 
hind all  your  fantastic  stage  scenery  rises  the  altar,  where 
everlasting  bonds  are  forged.  The  very  morrow  of  your 
marriage  the  graceful  structure  raised  by  your  subtle  strategy 
may  fall  before  that  terrible  reality  which  makes  of  a  girl  a 
woman,  of  a  gallant  a  husband.  Remember  that  there  is  no 
exemption  for  lovers.  For  them,  as  for  ordinary  folk  like 
Louis  and  me,  there  lurks  beneath  the  wedding  rejoicings  the 
great  "Perhaps"  of  Rabelais. 

I  do  not  blame  you,  though,  of  course,  it  was  rash,  for  talk- 
ing with  Felipe  in  the  garden,  or  for  spending  a  night  with 
him,  you  on  your  balcony,  he  on  his  wall ;  but  you  make  a 
plaything  of  life,  and  I  am  afraid  that  life  may  some  day  turn 
the  tables.  I  dare  not  give  you  the  counsel  which  my  own 
experience  would  suggest ;  but  let  me  repeat  once  more  from 
the  seclusion  of  my  valley  that  the  viaticum  of  married  life 
lies  in  these  words — resignation  and  self-sacrifice.  For,  spite 
of  all  your  tests,  your  coyness,  and  your  vigilance,  I  can  see 
that  marriage  will  mean  to  you  what  it  has  been  to  me.  The 
greater  the  passion,  the  steeper  the  precipice  we  have  hewn 
for  our  fall — that  is  the  only  difference. 


LETTERS   OE   TWO   BRIDES.  261 

Oh  !  what  I  would  give  to  see  the  Baron  de  Macumer  and 
talk  with  him  for  an  hour  or  two !  Your  happiness  lies  so 
near  my  heart. 


XXVI. 

LOUISE   DE   MACUMER   TO   RENEIE   DE  l'eSTORADE. 

March,  1825. 

As  Felipe  has  carried  out,  with  a  true  Saracenic  generosity, 
the  wishes  of  my  father  and  mother  in  acknowledging  the  for- 
tune he  has  not  received  from  me,  the  duchess  has  become 
even  more  friendly  to  me  than  before.  She  calls  me  little  sly- 
boots, little  woman  of  the  world,  and  says  I  know  how  to  use 
my  tongue. 

"But,  dear  mamma,"  I  said  to  her  the  evening  before  the 
contract  was  signed,  "you  attribute  to  cunning  and  smartness 
on  my  part  what  is  really  the  outcome  of  the  truest,  simplest, 
most  unselfish,  most  devoted  love  that  ever  was !  I  assure  you 
that  I  am  not  at  all  the  *  woman  of  the  world  '  you  do  me  the 
honor  of  believing  me  to  be." 

"  Come,  come,  Armande,"  she  said,  putting  her  arm  on 
my  neck  and  drawing  me  to  her,  in  order  to  kiss  my  forehead, 
"you  did  not  want  to  go  back  to  the  convent,  you  did  not  want 
to  die  an  old  maid,  and,  like  a  fine,  noble-hearted  Chaulieu, 
as  you  are,  you  recognized  the  necessity  of  building  up  your 
father's  family."  (The  duke  was  listening.  If  you  knew, 
Renee,  what  flattery  lies  for  him  in  these  words.)  "  I  have 
watched  you  during  a  whole  winter,  poking  your  little  nose 
into  all  that  goes  on,  forming  very  sensible  opinions  about 
men  and  the  present  state  of  society  in  France.  And  you 
have  picked  out  the  one  Spaniard  capable  of  giving  you  the 
splendid  position  of  a  woman  who  reigns  supreme  in  her  own 
house.  My  dear  little  girl,  you  treated  him  exactly  as  TuUia 
treats  your  brother." 


262  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

"  What  lessons  they  give  in  my  sister's  convent ! "  exclaimed 
my  father. 

A  glance  at  my  father  cut  him  short  at  once ;  then,  turning 
to  the  duchess,  I  said — 

"  Madame,  I  love  my  future  husband,  Felipe  de  Soria,  with 
all  the  strength  of  my  soul.  Although  this  love  sprang  up 
without  my  knowledge,  and  though  I  fought  it  stoutly  when 
it  first  made  itself  felt,  I  swear  to  you  that  I  never  gave  way 
to  it  till  I  had  recognized  in  the  Baron  de  Macumer  a  character 
worthy  of  mine,  a  heart  of  which  the  delicacy,  the  generosity, 
the  devotion,  and  the  temper  are  suited  to  my  own." 

"But,  my  dear,"  she  began,  interrupting  me,  "he  is  as 
ugly  as " 

"As  anything  you  like,"  I  retorted  quickly,  "but  I  love 
his  ugliness." 

"  If  you  love  him,  Armande,"  said  my  father,  "  and  have 
the  strength  to  master  your  love,  you  must  not  risk  your  hap- 
piness. Now,  happiness  in  marriage  depends  largely  on  the 
first  days " 

"Days  only?"  interrupted  my  mother.  Then,  with  a 
glance  at  my  father,  she  continued  :  "  You  had  better  leave  us, 
my  dear,  to  have  our  talk  together." 

"You  are  to  be  married,  dear  child,"  the  duchess  then  be- 
gan in  a  low  voice,  "  in  three  days.  It  becomes  my  duty, 
therefore,  without  silly  whimpering,  which  would  be  unfitting 
our  rank  in  life,  to  give  you  the  serious  advice  which  every 
mother  owes  to  her  daughter.  You  are  marrying  a  man  whom 
you  love,  and  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  pity  you  or 
myself.  I  have  only  known  you  for  a  year ;  and  if  this  period 
has  been  long  enough  for  me  to  learn  to  love  you,  it  is  hardly 
sufficient  to  justify  floods  of  tears  at  the  idea  of  losing  you. 
Your  mental  gifts  are  even  more  remarkable  than  those  of  your 
person  ;  you  have  gratified  maternal  pride,  and  have  shown 
yourself  a  sweet  and  loving  daughter.  I,  in  my  turn,  can 
promise  you  that  you  will  always  find  a  stanch  friend  in  your 


LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES.  263 

mother.  You  smile  ?  Alas  !  it  too  often  happens  that  a 
mother  who  has  lived  on  excellent  terms  with  her  daughter, 
so  long  as  the  daughter  is  a  mere  girl,  comes  to  cross-purposes 
with  her  when  they  are  both  women  together. 

*'  It  is  your  happiness  which  I  want,  so  listen  to  my  words. 
The  love  which  you  now  feel  is  that  of  a  young  girl,  and  is 
natural  to  us  all,  for  it  is  woman's  destiny  to  cling  to  a  man. 
Unhappily,  pretty  one,  there  is  but  one  man  in  the  world  for 
a  woman  !  And  sometimes  this  man,  whom  fate  has  marked 
out  for  us,  is  not  the  one  whom  we,  mistaking  a  passing  fancy 
for  love,  choose  as  husband.  Strange  as  what  I  say  may  ap- 
pear to  you,  it  is  worth  noting.  If  we  cannot  love  the  man 
we  have  chosen,  the  fault  is  not  exclusively  ours,  it  lies  with 
both,  or  sometimes  with  circumstances  over  which  we  have 
no  control.  Yet  there  is  no  reason  why  the  man  chosen  for 
us  by  our  family,  the  man  to  whom  our  fancy  has  gone  out, 
should  not  be  the  man  whom  we  can  love.  The  barrier  which 
may  arise  later  between  husband  and  wife  is  often  due  to  lack 
of  perseverance  on  both  sides.  The  task  of  transforming  a 
husband  into  a  lover  is  not  less  delicate  than  that  other  task 
of  making  a  husband  of  the  lover,  in  which  you  have  just 
proved  yourself  marvelously  successful. 

"  I  repeat  it,  your  happiness  is  my  object.  Never  allow 
yourself,  then,  to  forget  that  the  first  three  months  of  your 
married  life  may  work  your  misery  if  you  do  not  submit  to 
the  yoke  with  the  same  forbearance,  tenderness,  and  intelli- 
gence that  you  have  shown  during  the  days  of  courtship. 
For,  my  little  rogue,  you  know  very  well  that  you  have  in- 
dulged in  all  the  innocent  pleasures  of  a  clandestine  love 
affair.  If  the  culmination  of  your  love  begins  with  disap- 
pointment, dislike,  nay,  even  with  pain,  well,  come  and  tell 
me  about  it.  Don't  hope  for  too  much  from  marriage  at  first; 
it  will  perhaps  give  you  more  discomfort  than  joy.  The  hap- 
piness of  married  life  requires  at  least  as  patient  cherishing  as 
the  early  shoots  of  love. 


264  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

"  To  conclude,  if  by  chance  you  should  lose  the  lover  in 
the  husband,  you  may  find  in  his  place  the  father  of  your  chil- 
dren. In  this,  my  dear  child,  lies  the  whole  secret  of  social  life. 
Sacrifice  everything  to  the  man  whose  name  you  bear,  the  man 
whose  honor  and  reputation  cannot  suffer  in  the  least  degree 
without  involving  you  in  frightful  consequences.  Such  sacrifice 
is  thus  not  only  an  absolute  duty  for  women  of  our  rank,  it  is 
also  their  wisest  policy.  This,  indeed,  is  the  distinctive  mark 
of  great  moral  principles,  that  they  hold  good  and  are 
expedient  from  whatever  aspect  they  are  viewed.  But  I  need 
say  no  more  to  you  on  this  point. 

*'  I  fancy  you  are  of  a  jealous  disposition,  and,  my  dear,  if 
you  knew  how  jealous  I  am !  But  you  must  not  be  stupid 
over  it.  To  publish  your  jealousy  to  the  world  is  like  playing 
at  politics  with  your  cards  upon  the  table,  and  those  who  let 
their  own  game  be  seen  learn  nothing  of  their  opponents'. 
Whatever  happens,  we  must  know  how  to  endure  and  suffer  in 
silence." 

She  added  that  she  intended  having  some  plain  talk  about 
me  with  Macumer  the  evening  before  the  wedding. 

Raising  my  mother's  beautiful  arm,  I  kissed  her  hand  and 
dropped  on  it  a  tear,  which  the  tone  of  real  feeling  in  her 
voice  had  brought  to  my  eyes.  In  the  advice  she  had  given 
me,  I  read  high  principle  worthy  of  herself  and  of  me,  true 
wisdom,  and  a  tenderness  of  heart  unspoilt  by  the  narrow 
code  of  society.  Above  all,  I  saw  that  she  understood  my 
character.  These  few  simple  words  summed  up  the  lessons 
which  life  and  experience  had  brought  her,  perhaps  at  a  heavy 
price.     She  was  moved,  and  said,  as  she  looked  at  me — 

"  Dear  little  girl,  you've  got  a  nasty  crossing  before  you. 
And  most  women,  in  their  ignorance  or  their  disenchant- 
ment, are  as  wise  as  the  Earl  of  Westmoreland  !  " 

We  both  laughed ;  but  I  must  explain  the  joke.  The 
evening  before,  a  Russian  princess  had  told  us  an  anecdote  of 
this  gentleman.     He  had  suffered  frightfully  from  sea-sickness 


LETTERS   OF   TWO   BRIDES.  265 

in  crossing  the  Channel,  and  turned  tail  when  he  got  near 
Italy,  because  he  heard  some  one  speak  of  "crossing"  the 
Alps.  "  Thank  you ;  I've  had  quite  enough  crossings 
already,"  he  said. 

You  will  understand,  Renee,  that  your  gloomy  philosophy 
and  my  mother's  lecture  were  calculated  to  revive  the  fears 
which  used  to  disturb  us  at  Blois.  The  nearer  marriage 
approached,  the  more  did  I  need  to  summon  all  my  strength, 
my  resolution,  and  my  affection  to  face  this  terrible  passage 
from  maidenhood  to  womanhood.  All  our  conversations 
came  back  to  my  mind,  I  re-read  your  letters  and  discerned 
in  them  a  vague  undertone  of  sadness. 

This  anxiety  had  one  advantage  at  least ;  it  helped  me  to 
the  regulation  expression  for  a  bride — pale  and  shrinking-  • 
as  commonly  depicted.  The  consequence  was  that  on  the  day 
of  signing  the  contract  everybody  said  I  looked  quite  charm- 
ing and  interesting.  This  morning,  at  the  Mairie,  it  was  an 
informal  business,  and  only  the  witnesses  were  present. 

I  am  writing  this  tail  to  my  letter  while  they  are  putting 
out  my  dress  for  dinner.  We  shall  be  married  at  midnight  at 
the  church  of  Sainte-Valdre,  after  a  brilliant  reception.  I 
confess  that  my  fears  give  me  a  martyr-like  and  modest  air 
to  which  I  have  no  right,  but  which  will  be  admired — why, 
I  cannot  conceive.  I  am  delighted  to  see  that  poor  Felipe  is 
every  whit  as  timorous  as  I  am ;  society  grates  on  him,  he  is 
like  a  bat  in  a  glass  store. 

"Thank  heaven,  the  day  won't  last  for  ever!"  he 
whispered  to  me  in  all  innocence.  In  his  bashfulness  and 
timidity  he  would  have  liked  to  have  no  one  there. 

The  Sardinian  ambassador,  when  he  came  to  sign  the  con- 
tract, took  me  aside  in  order  to  present  me  with  a  pearl  neck- 
lace linked  together  by  six  splendid  diamonds — a  gift  from 
my  sister-in-law,  the  Duchesse  de  Soria.  Along  with  the 
necklace  was  a  sapphire  bracelet,  on  the  under  side  of  which 
were  engraved  the  words:  "Though  unknown,  beloved." 


266  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

Two  charming  letters  came  with  these  presents,  which,  how- 
ever, I  would  not  accept  without  consulting  Felipe. 

'*  For,"  I  said,  "  I  should  not  like  to  see  you  wearing  orna- 
ments that  came  from  any  one  but  me." 

He  kissed  my  hand,  quite  moved,  and  replied — 
"  Wear  them  for  the  sake  of  the  inscription,  and  also  that 
the  love  thus  offered  is  sincere." 

Saturday  Evening. 

Here,  then,  my  Ren6e,  are  the  last  words  of  your  girl 
friend.  After  the  midnight  mass,  we  set  off"  for  an  estate 
which  Felipe,  with  kind  thought  for  me,  has  bought  in 
Nivernais,  on  the  way  to  Provence.  Already  my  name  is 
Louise  de  Macumer,  but  I  leave  Paris  in  a  few  hours  as  Louise 
de  Chaulieu.  However  I  am  called,  there  will  never  be  for 
you  but  one  Louise. 

XXVIL 

THE   SAME   TO   THE   SAME. 

October,  1825. 

I  have  not  written  to  you,  dear,  since  our  marriage,  nearly 
eight  months  ago.  And  not  a  line  from  you  !  Madame,  you 
are  inexcusable. 

To  begin  with,  we  set  off  in  a  post-chaise  for  the  Castle  of 
Chantepleurs,  the  property  which  Macumer  has  bought  in 
Nivernais.  It  stands  on  the  banks  of  the  Loire,  sixty  leagues 
from  Paris.  Our  servants,  with  the  exception  of  my  maid, 
were  there  before  us,  and  we  arrived,  after  a  very  rapid  journey, 
the  next  evening.  I  slept  all  the  way  from  Paris  to  beyond 
Montargis.  My  lord  and  master  put  his  arm  round  me  and 
pillowed  my  head  on  his  shoulder,  upon  an  arrangement  of 
handkerchiefs.  This  was  the  one  liberty  he  took ;  and  the 
almost  motherly  tenderness  which  got  the  better  of  his  drowsi- 
ness touched  me  strangely.  I  fell  asleep  then  under  the  fire 
of  his  eyes,  and  awoke  to  find  them  still  blazing ;  the  passion- 
ate gaze  remained  unchanged,  but  what  thoughts  had  come 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  267 

and  gone  meanwhile  !  Twice  he  had  kissed  me  on  the  fore- 
head. 

At  Briare  we  had  breakfast  in  the  carriage.  Then  followed 
a  talk  like  our  old  talks  at  Blois,  while  the  same  Loire  we  used 
to  admire  called  forth  our  praises,  and  at  half-past  seven  we 
entered  the  noble  long  avenue  of  lime-trees,  acacias,  syca- 
mores, and  larches  which  leads  to  Chantepleurs.  At  eight  we 
dined ;  at  ten  we  were  in  our  bedroom,  a  charming  Gothic 
room,  made  comfortable  with  every  modern  luxury.  Felipe, 
who  is  thought  so  ugly,  seemed  to  me  quite  beautiful  in  his 
graceful  kindness  and  the  exquisite  delicacy  of  his  affection. 
Of  passion,  not  a  trace.  All  through  the  journey  he  might 
have  been  an  old  friend  of  fifteen  years'  standing.  Later,  he 
has  described  to  me,  with  all  the  vivid  touches  of  his  first  letter, 
the  furious  storms  that  raged  within  and  were  not  allowed  to 
ruffle  the  outer  surface. 

"So  far,  I  have  found  nothing  very  terrible  in  marriage," 
I  said,  as  I  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out  on  the 
glorious  moon  which  lit  up  a  charming  park,  breathing  of 
heavy  scents. 

He  drew  near,  put  his  arm  again  round  me,  and  said — 

"  Why  fear  it  ?  Have  I  ever  yet  proved  false  to  ray  promise 
in  gesture  or  look  ?     Why  should  I  be  false  in  the  future  ?  " 

Yet  never  were  words  or  glances  more  full  of  mastery  ;  his 
voice  thrilled  every  fibre  of  my  heart  and  roused  a  sleeping 
force ;  his  eyes  were  like  the  sun  in  power. 

"Oh  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "what  a  world  of  Moorish  perfidy  in 
this  attitude  of  perpetual  prostration  !  " 

He  understood,  my  dear. 

So,  my  fair  sweet  one,  if  I  have  let  months  slip  by  without 
writing,  you  can  now  divine  the  cause.  I  have  to  recall  the 
girl's  strange  past  in  order  to  explain  the  woman  to  myself. 
Rende,  I  understand  you  now.  Not  to  her  dearest  friend,  not 
to  her  mother,  not,  perhaps,  even  to  herself,  can  a  happy 
bride  speak  of  her  happiness.     This  memory  ought  to  remain 


2G8  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

absolutely  our  own,  an  added  rapture — a  thing  beyond  words, 
too  sacred  for  disclosure  ! 

Is  it  possible  that  the  name  of  duty  has  been  given  to  the 
delicious  frenzy  of  the  heart,  to  the  overwhelming  rush  of 
passion?  And  for  what  purpose?  What  malevolent  power 
conceived  the  idea  of  crushing  a  woman's  sensitive  delicacy 
and  all  the  thousand  wiles  of  her  modesty  under  the  fetters  of 
constraint?  What  sense  of  duty  can  force  from  her  these 
flowers  of  the  heart,  the  roses  of  life,  the  passionate  poetry  of 
her  nature,  apart  from  love  ?  To  claim  feeling  as  a  right ! 
Why,  it  blooms  of  itself  under  the  sun  of  love,  and  shrivels  to 
death  under  the  cold  blast  of  distaste  and  aversion  !  Let  love 
guard  his  own  rights  ! 

Oh  !  my  noble  Ren^e  !  I  understand  you  now.  I  bow  to 
your  greatness,  amazed  at  the  depth  and  clearness  of  your 
insight.  Yes,  the  woman  who  has  not  used  the  marriage 
ceremony,  as  I  have  done,  merely  to  legalize  and  publish  the 
secret  election  of  her  heart,  has  nothing  left  but  to  fly  to 
motherhood.     When  earth  fails,  the  soul  makes  for  heaven  ! 

One  hard  truth  emerges  from  all  that  you  have  said.  Only 
men  who  are  really  great  know  how  to  love,  and  now  I  under- 
stand the  reason  of  this.  Man  obeys  two  forces — one  sensual, 
one  spiritual.  Weak*  or  inferior  men  mistake  the  first  for  the 
last,  whilst  great  souls  know  how  to  clothe  the  merely  natural 
instinct  in  all  the  graces  of  the  spirit.  The  very  strength  of 
this  spiritual  passion  imposes  severe  self-restraint  and  inspires 
them  with  reverence  for  women.  Clearly,  feeling  is  sensitive 
in  proportion  to  the  calibre  of  the  mental  powers  generally, 
and  this  is  why  the  man  of  genius  alone  has  something  of  a 
woman's  delicacy.  He  understands  and  divines  woman,  and 
the  wings  of  passion  on  which  he  raises  her  are  restrained  by 
the  timidity  of  the  sensitive  spirit.  But  when  the  mind,  the 
heart,  and  the  senses  all  have  their  share  in  the  rapture  which 
transports  us — ah  !  then  there  is  no  falling  to  earth,  rather  it 
is  to  heaven  we  soar,  alas !  for  only  too  brief  a  visit. 


LETTERS   OF   TWO   BRIDES.  269 

Such,  dear  soul,  is  the  philosophy  of  the  first  three  months 
of  my  married  life,  Felipe  is  angelic.  Without  figure  of 
speech,  he  is  another  self,  and  I  can  think  aloud  with  him. 
His  greatness  of  soul  passes  my  comprehension.  Possession 
only  attaches  him  more  closely  to  me,  and  he  discovers  in  his 
happiness  new  motives  for  loving  me.  For  him,  I  am  the 
nobler  part  of  himself.  I  can  foresee  that  years  of  wedded  life, 
far  from  impairing  his  affection,  will  only  make  it  more 
assured,  develop  fresh  possibilities  of  enjoyment,  and  bind  us 
in  more  perfect  sympathy.     What  a  delirium  of  joy  ! 

It  is  part  of  my  nature  that  pleasure  has  an  exhilarating 
effect  on  me;  it  leaves  sunshine  behind,  and  becomes  a  part 
of  my  inner  being.  The  interval  which  parts  one  ecstasy 
from  another  is  like  the  short  night  which  marks  off  our  long 
summer  days.  The  sun  which  flushed  the  mountain  tops  with 
warmth  in  setting  finds  them  hardly  cold  when  it  rises.  What 
happy  chance  has  given  me  such  a  destiny?  My  mother  had 
roused  a  host  of  fears  in  me ;  her  forecast,  which,  though  free 
from  the  alloy  of  vulgar  pettiness,  seemed  to  me  redolent  of 
jealousy,  has  been  falsified  by  the  event.  Your  fears  and  hers, 
my  own — all  have  vanished  in  thin  air  ! 

We  remained  at  Chantepleurs  seven  months  and  a  half,  for 
all  the  world  like  a  couple  of  runaway  lovers  fleeihg  the  pa- 
rental wrath,  while  the  roses  of  pleasure  crowned  our  love  and 
embellished  our  dual  solitude.  One  morning,  when  I  was 
even  happier  than  usual,  I  began  to  muse  over  my  lot,  and 
suddenly  Ren^e  and  her  prosaic  marriage  flashed  into  my 
mind.  It  seemed  to  me  that  now  I  could  grasp  the  inner 
meaning  of  your  life.  Oh  !  my  sweet,  why  do  we  speak  a 
different  tongue?  Your  marriage  of  convenience  and  my  love 
match  are  two  worlds,  as  widely  separated  as  the  finite  from 
infinity.  You  still  walk  the  earth,  whilst  I  range  the  heavens  ! 
Your  sphere  is  human,  mine  divine !  Love  crowned  me 
queen,  you  reign  by  reason  and  duty.  So  lofty  are  the  regions 
where  I  soar,  that  a  fall  would  shiver  me  to  atoms. 


270  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

But  no  more  of  this.  I  shrink  from  painting  to  you  the 
rainbow  brightness,  the  profusion,  the  exuberant  joy  of  love's 
springtime,  as  we  know  it. 

For  ten  days  we  have  been  in  Paris,  staying  in  a  charming 
house  in  the  Rue  du  Bac,  prepared  for  us  by  the  architect  to 
whom  Felipe  intrusted  the  decoration  of  Chantepleurs.  I 
have  been  listening,  in  all  the  full  content  of  an  assured  and 
sanctioned  love,  to  that  divine  music  of  Rossini's,  which  used 
to  soothe  me  when,  as  a  restless  girl,  I  hungered  vaguely  after 
experience.  They  say  I  am  more  beautiful,  and  I  have  a 
childish  pleasure  in  hearing  myself  called  "  Madame." 

Friday  Morning. 

Renee,  my  fair  saint,  the  happiness  of  my  own  life  pulls  me 
for  ever  back  to  you.  I  feel  that  I  can  be  more  to  you  than 
ever  before,  you  are  so  dear  to  me  !  I  have  studied  your 
wedded  life  closely  in  the  light  of  my  own  opening  chapters ; 
and  you  seem  to  me  to  come  out  of  the  scrutiny  so  great,  so 
noble,  so  splendid  in  your  goodness,  that  I  here  declare  my- 
self your  inferior  and  humble  admirer,  as  well  as  your  friend. 
When  I  think  what  marriage  has  been  to  me,  it  seems  to  me 
that  I  should  have  died,  had  it  turned  out  otherwise.  And 
you  live  /  Tell  me  what  your  heart  feeds  on !  Never  again 
shall  I  make  fun  of  you.  Mockery,  my  sweet,  is  the  child  of 
ignorance;  we  jest  at  what  we  know  nothing  of.  "Recruits 
will  laugh  where  the  veteran  soldier  looks  grave,"  was  a  re- 
mark matde  to  me  by  the  Comte  de  Chaulieu,  that  poor  cavalry 
officer  whose  campaigning  so  far  has  consisted  in  marches  from 
Paris  to  Fontainebleau  and  back  again. 

I  surmise,  too,  my  dear  love,  that  you  have  not  told  me  all ! 
There  are  wounds  which  you  have  hidden.  You  suffer  !  I  am 
convinced  of  it.  In  trying  to  make  out  at  this  distance  and 
from  the  scraps  you  tell  me  the  reasons  of  your  conduct,  I 
have  weaved  together  all  sorts  of  romantic  theories  about  you. 
*' She  has  made  a  mere  experiment  in  marriage,"  I  thought 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  271 

one  evening,  "  and  what  is  happiness  for  me  has  proved  only 
suffering  to  her.  Her  sacrifice  is  barren  of  reward,  and  she 
would  not  make  it  greater  than  need  be.  The  unctuous 
axioms  of  social  morality  are  only  used  to  cloak  her  disap- 
pointment." Ah!  Renee,  the  best  of  happiness  is  that  it 
needs  no  dogma  and  no  fine  words  to  pave  the  way ;  it  speaks 
for  itself,  while  theory  has  been  piled  upon  theory  to  justify 
the  system  of  women's  vassalage  and  thralldom.  If  self-denial 
be  so  noble,  so  sublime,  what,  pray,  of  my  joy,  sheltered  by 
the  gold-and-white  canopy  of  the  church,  and  witnessed  by 
the  hand  and  seal  of  the  most  sour-faced  of  mayors  ?  Is  it  a 
thing  out  of  nature? 

For  the  honor  of  the  law,  for  her  own  sake,  but  most  of  all 
to  make  my  happiness  complete,  I  long  to  see  my  Renee 
happy.  Oh  !  tell  me  that  you  see  a  dawn  of  love  for  this 
Louis  who  adores  you !  Tell  me  that  the  solemn,  symbolic 
torch  of  Hymen  has  not  alone  served  to  lighten  your  darkness, 
but  that  love,  the  glorious  sun  of  our  hearts,  pours  his  rays  on 
you.  I  come  back  always,  you  see,  to  this  midday  blaze, 
which  will  be  my  destruction,  I  fear. 

Dear  Renee,  do  you  remember  how,  in  your  outbursts  of 
girlish  devotion,  you  would  say  to  me,  as  we  sat  under  the 
vine-covered  arbor  of  the  convent  garden,  "I  love  you  so, 
Louise,  that  if  God  appeared  to  me  in  a  vision,  I  would  pray 
Him  that  all  the  sorrows  of  life  might  be  mine,  and  all  the 
joy  yours.  I  burn  to  suffer  for  you?"  Now,  darling,  the 
day  has  come  when  I  take  up  your  prayer,  imploring  heaven 
to  grant  you  a  share  in  my  happiness. 

I  must  tell  you  my  idea.  I  have  a  shrewd  notion  that  you 
are  hatching  ambitious  plans  under  the  name  of  Louis  de 
I'Estorade.  Very  good;  get  him  elected  deputy  at  the  ap- 
proaching election,  for  he  will  be  very  nearly  forty  then  ;  and 
as  the  Chamber  does  not  meet  till  six  months  later,  he  will 
have  just  attained  the  age  necessary  to  qualify  for  a  seat.  You 
will  come  to  Paris — there,  isn't  that  enough  ?    My  father,  and 


272  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

the  friends  I  shall  have  made  by  that  time,  will  learn  to  know 
and  admire  you ;  and  if  your  father-in-law  will  agree  to  found 
a  family,  we  will  get  the  title  of  comte  for  Louis.  That  is 
something  at  least !     And  we  shall  be  together. 


XXVIII. 

RENfeE    DE  l'eSTORADE   TO   LOUISE   DE   MACUMER. 

December,  1825. 

My  thrice  happy  Louise,  your  letter  made  me  dizzy.  For 
a  few  moments  I  held  it  in  my  listless  hands,  while  a  tear  or 
two  sparkled  on  it  in  the  setting  sun.  I  was  alone  beneath 
the  small  barren  rock  where  I  have  had  a  seat  placed ;  far  off, 
like  a  lance  of  steel,  the  Mediterranean  shone.  The  seat  is 
shaded  by  aromatic  shrubs,  and  I  have  had  a  very  large  jessa- 
mine, some  honeysuckle,  and  Spanish  broom  transplanted 
there,  so  that  some  day  the  rock  will  be  entirely  covered  with 
climbing  plants.  The  wild  vine  has  already  taken  root  there. 
But  winter  draws  near,  and  all  this  greenery  is  faded  like  a 
piece  of  old  tapestry.  In  this  spot  I  am  never  molested ;  it 
is  understood  that  here  I  wish  to  be  alone.  It  is  named 
Louise's  seat — a  proof,  is  it  not,  that  even  in  solitude  I  am 
not  alone  here  ? 

If  I  tell  you  all  these  details,  to  you  so  paltry,  and  try  to 
describe  the  vision  of  green  with  which  my  prophetic  gaze 
clothes  this  bare  rock — on  whose  top  some  freak  of  nature  has 
set  up  a  magnificent  parasol  pine — it  is  because  in  all  this  I 
have  found  an  emblem  to  which  I  cling. 

It  was  while  your  blessed  lot  was  filling  me  with  joy  and — 
must  I  confess  it  ? — with  bitter  envy  too,  that  I  felt  the  first 
movement  of  my  child  within,  and  this  mystery  of  physical 
life  reacted  upon  the  inner  recesses  of  my  soul.  This  inde- 
finable sensation,  which  partakes  of  the  nature  at  once  of  a 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  273 

warning,  a  delight,  a  pain,  a  promise,  and  a  fulfillment ;  this 
joy,  which  is  mine  alone,  unshared  by  mortal,  this  wonder  of 
wonders,  has  whispered  to  me  that  one  day  this  rock  shall  be 
a  carpet  of  flowers,  resounding  to  the  merry  laughter  of  chil- 
dren, that  I  shall  at  last  be  blessed  among  women,  and  from 
my  womb  shall  spring  forth  fountains  of  life.  Now  I  know 
what  I  have  lived  for  !  Thus  the  first  certainty  of  bearing 
within  me  another  life  brought  healing  to  my  wounds.  A 
mighty  joy  that  beggars  description  has  crowned  for  me  those 
long  days  of  sacrifice,  in  which  Louis  had  already  found  his 

joy- 
Self-sacrifice  !  I  said  to  myself,  how  far  does  it  excel  pas- 
sion !  What  pleasure  has  roots  so  deep  as  one  which  is  not 
personal  but  creative  ?  Is  not  the  spirit  of  devotion  a  power 
mightier  than  any  of  its  results  ?  Is  it  not  that  mysterious, 
tireless  divinity,  who  hides  beneath  innumerable  spheres  in  an 
unexplored  centre,  through  which  all  worlds  in  turn  must  pass  ? 
Sacrifice,  solitary  and  secret,  rich  in  pleasures  only  tasted  in 
silence,  at  which  none  can  guess,  and  no  profane  eye  has  ever 
seen ;  sacrifice — devotion — jealous  God  and  tyrant,  God  of 
strength  and  victory,  exhaustless  spring  which,  partaking  of 
the  very  essence  of  all  that  exists,  can  by  no  expenditure  be 
drained  below  its  own  level;  sacrifice,  there  is  the  keynote 
of  my  life. 

For  you,  Louise,  love  is  but  the  reflex  of  Felipe's  passion  ; 
the  life  which  I  shed  upon  my  little  ones  will  come  back  to 
me  in  ever-growing  fullness.  The  plenty  of  your  golden 
harvest  will  pass ;  mine,  though  late,  will  be  but  the  more 
enduring,  for  each  hour  will  see  it  renewed.  Love  may  be 
the  fairest  gem  which  society  has  filched  from  nature ;  but 
what  is  motherhood  save  nature  in  her  most  gladsome  mood  ? 
A  smile  has  dried  my  tears.  Love  makes  my  Louis  happy, 
but  marriage  has  made  me  a  mother,  and  who  shall  say  I  am 
not  happy  too  ? 

Selfishness  is  dead  within  me. 
18 


274  LETTEES  OF  TIVO  BRIDES. 

With  slow  steps,  then,  I  returned  to  my  white  grange,  with 
its  green  blinds,  to  write  you  these  thoughts. 

So  it  is,  darling,  that  the  most  marvelous,  and  yet  the  sim- 
plest, process  of  nature  has  been  going  on  in  me  for  five 
months ;  and  yet — in  your  ear  let  me  whisper  it — so  far  it 
agitates  neither  my  heart  nor  my  understanding.  I  see  all 
around  me  happy ;  the  grandfather-to-be  has  become  a  child 
again,  trespassing  on  the  grandchild's  place  ;  the  father  wears 
a  grave  and  anxious  look ;  they  are  all  most  attentive  to  me, 
all  talk  of  the  happiness  of  being  a  mother.  Alas  !  I  alone 
remain  cold,  and  I  dare  not  tell  you  how  dead  I  am  to  all 
emotion,  though  I  fib  a  little  in  order  not  to  dampen  the  gen- 
eral satisfaction.  But  with  you  I  may  be  frank  ;  and  I  confess 
that,  at  my  present  stage,  motherhood  is  a  mere  affair  of  the 
imagination. 

Louis  was  to  the  full  as  much  surprised  as  I  was  by  my 
pregnancy.  Does  not  this  show  how  little,  unless  by  his  im- 
patient wishes,  the  father  counts  for  in  this  matter?  Chance, 
my  dear,  is  the  sovereign  deity  of  maternity.  My  doctor, 
while  maintaining  that  this  accident  works  in  harmony  with 
nature,  does  not  deny  that  children  who  are  the  fruit  of  pas- 
sionate love  are  bound  to  be  richly  endowed  both  physically 
and  mentally,  and  that  often  the  happiness  which  shone  like 
a  radiant  star  over  their  conception  seems  to  watch  over  them 
through  life.  It  may  be  then,  Louise,  that  motherhood  re- 
serves joys  for  you  which  I  can  never  know.  It  may  be  that 
the  feeling  of  a  mother  for  the  child  of  a  man  whom  she 
adores,  as  you  adore  Felipe,  is  different  from  that  with  which 
she  regards  the  offspring  of  reason,  duty,  or  desperation  ! 

Thoughts  such  as  these,  which  I  bury  in  my  inmost  heart, 
add  to  the  preoccupation  only  natural  to  a  woman  soon  to  be 
a  mother.  And  yet,  as  no  family  can  exist  without  children, 
I  long  to  speed  the  moment  from  which  the  joys  of  Family, 
where  alone  I  am  to  find  my  life,  shall  date  their  beginning. 
At  present  I  live  a  life  all  expectation  and  mystery,  except 


LETTERS  OF  TWO   BRIDES.  275 

for  a  sickening  physical  discomfort,  which  no  doubt  serves 
to  prepare  a  woman  for  suffering  of  a  different  kind.  I  watch 
my  symptoms  ;  and  in  spite  ot  the  attentions  and  thoughtful 
care  with  which  Louis'  anxiety  surrounds  me,  I  am  conscious 
of  a  vague  uneasiness,  mingled  with  nausea,  the  distaste  for 
food,  and  abnormal  longings  common  to  my  condition.  If 
I  am  to  speak  candidly,  I  must  confess,  at  the  risk  of  disgust- 
ing you  with  the  whole  business,  to  an  incomprehensible 
craving  for  rotten  fruit.  My  husband  goes  to  Marseilles  to 
fetch  the  finest  oranges  the  world  produces — from  Malta,  Por- 
tugal, Corsica — and  these  I  don't  touch.  Then  I  hurry  there 
myself,  sometimes  on  foot,  and  in  a  little  back  street,  running 
down  to  the  harbor,  close  to  the  Town  Hall,  I  find  wretched, 
half-putrid  oranges,  two  for  a  sou,  which  I  devour  eagerly. 
The  bluish,  greenish  shades  on  the  moldy  parts  sparkle  like 
diamonds  in  my  eyes,  they  are  flowers  to  me ;  I  forget  the 
putrid  odor,  and  find  them  delicious,  with  a  piquant  flavor, 
and  stimulating  as  wine.  My  dear,  they  are  the  first  love  of 
my  life  !  Your  passion  for  Felipe  is  nothing  to  this  !  Some- 
times I  even  slip  out  secretly  and  fly  to  Marseilles,  full  of 
passionate  longings,  which  grow  more  intense  as  I  draw  near 
the  street.  I  tremble  lest  the  woman  should  be  sold  out  of 
rotten  oranges;  I  pounce  on  them  and  devour  them  as  I 
stand.  It  seems  to  me  an  ambrosial  food,  and  yet  I  have 
seen  Louis  turn  aside  unable  to  bear  the  smell.  Then  came 
to  my  mind  the  ghastly  words  of  Obermann  in  his  gloomy 
elegy,  which  I  wish  I  had  never  read:  "Roots  slake  their 
thirst  in  foulest  streams."  Since  I  took  to  this  diet,  the  sick- 
ness has  ceased,  and  I  feel  much  stronger.  This  depravity  of 
taste  must  have  a  meaning,  for  it  seems  to  be  part  of  a  natural 
process  and  to  be  common  to  most  women,  sometimes  going 
to  most  extravagant  lengths. 

When  my  situation  is  more  marked,  I  shall  not  go  beyond 
the  grounds,  for  I  should  not  like  to  be  seen  under  these  cir- 
cumstances.    I  have  the  greatest  curiosity  to  know  at  what 


276  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

precise  moment  the  sense  of  motherhood  begins.  It  cannot 
possibly  be  in  the  midst  of  frightful  suffering,  the  very  thought 
of  which  makes  me  shudder. 

Farewell,  favorite  of  fortune  !  Farewell,  my  friend,  in 
whom  I  live  again,  and  through  whom  I  am  able  to  picture  to 
myself  this  brave  love,  this  jealousy  all  on  fire  at  a  look,  these 
whisperings  in  the  ear,  these  joys  which  create  for  women,  as 
it  were,  a  new  atmosphere,  a  new  daylight,  fresh  life!  Ah  ! 
pet,  I  too  understand  love.  Don't  weary  of  telling  me  every- 
thing. Keep  faithful  to  our  bond.  I  promise,  in  my  turn, 
to  spare  you  nothing. 

Nay — to  conclude  in  all  seriousness — I  will  not  conceal 
from  you  that,  on  reading  your  letter  a  second  time,  I  was 
seized  with  a  dread  which  I  could  not  shake  off.  This  superb 
love  seems  like  a  challenge  to  Providence.  Will  not  the 
sovereign  master  of  this  earth.  Calamity,  take  umbrage  if  no 
place  be  left  for  him  at  your  feast?  What  mighty  edifice  of 
fortune  has  he  not  overthrown  ?  Oh  !  Louise,  forget  not,  in 
all  this  happiness,  your  prayers  to  God.  Do  good,  be  kind 
and  merciful ;  let  your  moderation,  if  it  may  be,  avert  disaster. 
Religion  has  meant  much  more  to  me  since  I  left  the  convent 
and  since  my  marriage;  but  your  Paris  news  contains  no 
mention  of  it.  In  your  glorification  of  Felipe,  it  seems  to 
me  you  reverse  the  saying,  and  invoke  God  less  than  His 
saint. 

But,  after  all,  this  panic  is  only  excess  of  affection.  You 
go  to  church  together,  I  do  not  doubt,  and  do  good  in  secret. 
The  close  of  this  letter  will  seem  to  you  very  provincial,  I 
expect,  but  think  of  the  too  eager  friendship  which  prompts 
these  fears — a  friendship  of  the  type  of  La  Fontaine's,  which 
takes  alarm  at  dreams,  at  half-formed,  misty  ideas.  You  de- 
serve to  be  happy,  since,  through  it  all,  you  still  think  of  me, 
no  less  than  I  think  of  you,  in  my  monotonous  life,  which, 
though  it  lacks  color,  is  yet  not  empty,  and,  if  uneventful, 
is  not  unfruitful.     And  so,  God  bless  you  1 


LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES.  277 


XXIX. 

M.    DE   l'eSTORADE   TO   THE   BARONNE   DE   MACUMER. 

December,  1825. 
Madame  : — It  is  the  desire  of  my  wife  that  you  should  not 
learn  first  from  the  formal  announcement,  2l  billet  de  f aire  part, 
of  an  event  which  has  filled  us  with  much  happiness.  Ren6e 
has  just  given  birth  to  a  fine  boy,  whose  baptism  we  are  post- 
poning till  your  return  to  Chantepleurs.  Ren6e  and  I  both 
earnestly  hope  that  you  may  push  on  as  far  as  La  Crampade, 
and  will  consent  to  act  as  godmother  to  our  firstborn.  In 
this  hope,  I  have  had  him  placed  on  the  register  under  the 
name  of  Armand-Louis  de  I'Estorade. 

Our  dear  Renee  suffered  much,  but  bore  it  with  angelic 
patience.  You,  who  know  her,  will  easily  understand  that  the 
assurance  of  bringing  happiness  to  us  all  supported  her  through 
this  trying  apprenticeship  to  motherhood. 

Without  indulging  in  the  more  or  less  ludicrous  exaggera- 
tions to  which  the  novel  sensation  of  being  a  father  is  apt  to 
give  rise,  I  may  tell  you  that  little  Armand  is  a  beautiful  in- 
fant, and  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  believing  it  when  I 
add  that  he  has  Renee's  features  and  eyes.  So  far,  at  least, 
this  gives  proof  of  intelligence  ! 

The  physician  and  accoucheur  assure  us  that  Ren6e  is  now 
quite  out  of  danger ;  and  as  she  is  proving  an  admirable  nurse 
— nature  has  endowed  her  so  generously ! — my  father  and  I 
are  able  to  give  free  rein  to  our  joy.  Madame,  may  I  be 
allowed  to  express  the  hope  that  this  happiness,  so  vivid  and 
intense,  which  has  brought  fresh  life  into  our  house,  and  has 
changed  the  face  of  existence  for  my  dear  wife,  may  ere  long 
be  yours? 

Ren^e  has  had  a  suite  of  rooms  prepared,  and  I  only  wfsh  I 
could   make   them   worthy  of  our  guests.     But   the  cordial 


278  LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES. 

friendliness  of  the  reception  which  awaits  you  may  perhaps 
atone  for  any  lack  of  splendor. 

I  have  heard  from  Renee,  madame,  of  your  kind  thought  in 
regard  to  us,  and  I  take  this  opportunity  of  thanking  you  for 
it,  the  more  gladly  because  nothing  could  now  be  more  ap- 
propriate. The  birth  of  a  grandson  has  reconciled  my  father 
to  sacrifices  which  bear  hardly  on  an  old  man.  He  has  just 
bought  two  estates,  and  La  Crampade  is  now  a  property  with 
an  annual  rental  of  thirty  thousand  francs.  My  father  intends 
asking  the  King's  permission  to  form  an  entailed  estate  of  it  \ 
and  if  you  are  good  enough  to  get  for  him  instead  of  me  the 
title  of  which  you  spoke  in  your  last  letter,  you  will  have 
already  done  much  for  your  godson. 

For  my  part,  I  shall  carry  out  your  suggestion  solely  with 
the  object  of  bringing  you  and  Ren6e  together  during  the  ses- 
sions of  the  Chamber.  I  am  working  hard  with  the  view  of 
becoming  what  is  called  a  specialist.  But  nothing  could  give 
me  greater  encouragement  in  my  labors  than  the  thought  that 
you  will  take  an  interest  in  my  little  Armand.  Come,  then, 
we  beg  of  you,  and  with  your  beauty  and  your  grace,  your 
playful  fancy  and  your  noble  soul,  enact  the  part  of  good  fairy 
to  my  son  and  heir.  You  will  thus,  madame,  add  undying 
gratitude  to  the  respectful  affection  of 

Your  very  humble,  obedient  servant, 

Louis  de  l'Estorade. 


XXX. 

LOUISE  DE  MACUMER  TO  REN^E   DE  l'eSTORADE. 

January,  1826. 

Macumer  has  just  wakened  me,  darling,  with  your  husband's 

letter.     First   and    foremost — Yes.     We   shall    be   going   to 

Chantepleurs  about  the  end  of  April.     To  me  it  will  be  a 

piling  up  of  pleasure  to  travel,  to  see  you,  and  to  be  the  god- 


LETTERS  OF   TWO  BRIDES.  279 

mother  of  your  first  child.  I  must,  please,  have  Macumer  for 
godfather.  To  take  part  in  a  ceremony  of  the  church  with 
another  as  my  partner  would  be  hateful  to  me.  Ah  !  if  you 
could  see  the  look  he  gave  me  as  I  said  this,  you  would  know 
what  store  this  angel  of  lovers  sets  on  his  wife  ! 

"  I  am  the  more  bent  on  our  visiting  La  Crampade  together, 
Felipe,"  I  went  on,  "  because  I  might  have  a  child  there.  I 
too,  you  know,  would  be  a  mother,  though,  most  surely,  I 
should  be  terribly  torn  between  a  child  and  you.  To  begin 
with,  if  I  saw  any  creature — were  it  even  my  own  son — tak- 
ing my  place  in  your  heart,  I  couldn't  answer  for  the  conse- 
quences. Medea  may  have  been  right  after  all.  The  Greeks 
had  some  good  notions  !  " 

And  he  laughed. 

So,  my  sweetheart,  you  have  the  fruit  without  the  flowers ; 
I  the  flowers  without  the  fruit.  The  contract  in  our  lives  still 
holds  good.  Between  the  two  of  us  we  have  surely  enough 
philosophy  to  find  the  moral  of  it  some  day.  Bah  !  only  ten 
months  married  !  there's  not  much  time  lost.  Too  soon,  you 
will  admit,  to  give  up  hope. 

We  are  leading  a  gay,  yet  far  from  empty  life,  as  is  the  way 
with  happy  people.  The  days  are  never  long  enough  for  us. 
Society,  seeing  me  in  the  trappings  of  a  married  woman,  pro- 
nounces the  Baronne  de  Macumer  much  prettier  than  Louise  de 
Chaulieu  ;  a  happy  love  is  a  most  becoming  cosmetic.  When 
F6lipe  and  I  drive  along  the  Champs-Elysees  in  the  bright 
sunshine  of  a  crisp  January  day,  beneath  the  trees,  frosted 
with  clusters  of  white  stars,  and  face  all  Paris  on  the  spot 
where  last  year  we  met  with  a  gulf  between  us,  the  contrast 
calls  up  a  thousand  fancies.  Suppose,  after  all,  your  last  let- 
ter should  be  right  in  its  forecast,  and  we  are  too  presump- 
tuous ! 

If  I  am  ignorant  of  a  mother's  joys,  you  shall  tell  me 
about  them  ;  I  will  learn  by  sympathy.  But  my  imagination 
can  picture  nothing  to  equal  the  rapture  of  love.     You  will 


280  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

laugh  at  my  extravagance ;  but,  I  assure  you,  that  a  dozen 
times  in  as  many  months  the  longing  has  seized  me  to  die  at 
thirty,  while  life  was  still  untarnished,  amidst  the  roses  of 
love,  in  the  embrace  of  passion.  To  bid  farewell  to  the  feast 
at  its  brightest,  before  disappointment  has  come,  having  lived 
in  this  sunshine  and  celestial  air,  and  well-nigh  spent  myself 
in  love,  not  a  leaf  dropped  from  my  crown,  not  an  illusion 
perished  in  my  heart,  what  a  dream  is  there  !  Think  what  it 
would  be  to  bear  about  a  young  heart  in  an  aged  body,  to  see 
only  cold,  dumb  faces  around  me,  where  even  strangers  used 
to  smile ;  to  be  a  worthy  matron  !  Can  hell  have  a  worse 
torture? 

On  this  very  subject,  in  fact,  Felipe  and  I  have  had  our 
first  quarrel.  I  contended  that  he  ought  to  have  sufficient 
moral  strength  to  kill  me  in  my  sleep  when  I  have  reached 
thirty,  so  that  I  might  pass  from  one  dream  to  another.  The 
wretch  declined.  I  threatened  to  leave  him  alone  in  the 
world,  and,  poor  child,  he  turned  white  as  a  sheet.  My 
dear,  this  distinguished  statesman  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  a 
baby  in  my  hands.  It  is  incredible  what  youth  and  simplic- 
ity he  contrived  to  hide  away.  Now  that  I  allow  myself  to 
think  aloud  with  him,  as  I  do  with  you,  and  have  no  secrets 
from  him,  we  are  always  amazing  each  other. 

Dear  Renee,  Felipe  and  Louise,  the  pair  of  lovers,  want  to 
send  a  present  to  the  young  mother.  We  would  like  to  get 
something  that  would  give  you  pleasure,  and  we  don't  share 
the  vulgar  taste  for  "surprises;"  so  tell  me  quite  frankly, 
please,  what  you  would  like.  It  ought  to  be  something  which 
would  recall  us  to  you  in  a  pleasant  way,  something  which 
you  will  use  every  day,  and  which  won't  wear  out  with  use. 
The  meal  which  with  us  is  most  cheerful  and  friendly  is  lunch, 
and  therefore  the  idea  occurred  to  me  of  a  special  luncheon 
service,  ornamented  with  figures  of  babies.  If  you  approve 
of  this,  let  me  know  at  once  ;  for  it  will  have  to  be  ordered 
immediately  if  we  are  to  bring  it.     Parisian  artists  are  gentle- 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  281 

men  of  far  too  much  importance  to  be  hurried,  they  are  like 
the  sluggard  king.     This  will  be  my  offering  to  Lucina. 

Farewell,  dear  wet-nurse.  May  all  a  mother's  delights  be 
yours  !  I  await  with  impatience  your  first  letter,  which  will 
tell  me  all  about  it,  I  hope.  Some  of  the  details  in  your 
husband's  letter  went  to  my  heart.  Poor  Ren6e,  a  mother 
has  a  heavy  price  to  pay.  I  will  tell  my  godson  how  dearly 
he  must  love  you. 

A  thousand  kisses,  mon  ange. 


XXXI. 

RENiE   DE   l'eSTORADE   TO   LOUISE  DE   MACUMER. 

It  is  nearly  five  months  now  since  baby  was  born,  and  not 
once,  dear  heart,  have  I  found  a  single  moment  for  writing 
you.  When  you  are  a  mother  yourself,  you  will  be  more  ready 
to  excuse  me  than  you  are  now ;  for  you  have  punished  me  a 
little  bit  in  making  your  own  letters  so  few  and  far  between. 
Do  write,  my  darling  !  Tell  me  of  your  pleasures ;  lay  on  the 
ultramarine  as  brightly  as  you  please.  It  will  not  hurt  me, 
for  I  am  happy  now — happier  than  you  can  imagine. 

I  went  in  state  to  the  parish  church  to  hear  the  mass  for 
recovery  from  childbirth,  as  is  the  custom  in  the  old  families 
of  Provence.  I  was  supported  on  either  side  by  the  two  grand- 
fathers— Louis'  father  and  my  own.  Never  had  I  knelt  before 
God  with  such  a  flood  of  gratitude  in  my  heart.  I  have  so 
much  to  tell  you,  so  many  feelings  to  describe,  that  I  don't 
know  where  to  begin ;  but  from  amidst  these  confused  mem- 
ories, one  rises  distinctly,  radiantly — that  of  my  prayer  in  the 
church. 

When  I  found  myself  transformed  into  a  joyful  mother,  on 
the  very  spot  where,  as  a  girl,  I  had  trembled  for  my  future, 
it  seemed  to  my  fancy  the  Virgin  on  the  altar  bowed  her  head 
and  pointed  to  the  infant  Christ,  who  smiled  at  me !     My 


282  LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES. 

heart  full  of  pure  and  heavenly  love,  I  held  out  little  Armand 
for  the  priest  to  bless  and  bathe,  in  anticipation  of  the  regular 
baptism  to  come  later.  But  you  will  see  us  together  then, 
Armand  and  me. 

My  child — see  how  readily  the  word  comes,  and  indeed 
there  is  none  sweeter  to  a  mother's  heart  and  mind  or  on  her 
lips — well,  then,  dear  child,  during  the  last  two  months  I  used 
to  drag  myself  wearily  and  heavily  about  the  gardens,  not 
realizing  yet  how  precious  was  the  burden,  spite  of  all  the 
discomforts  it  brought !  I  was  haunted  by  forebodings  so 
gloomy  and  ghastly,  that  they  got  the  better  even  of  curiosity ; 
in  vain  did  I  reason  with  myself  that  no  natural  function 
could  be  so  very  terrible,  in  vain  did  I  picture  the  delights  of 
motherhood.  My  heart  made  no  response  even  to  the  thought 
of  the  little  one,  who  announced  himself  by  lively  kicking. 
That  is  a  sensation,  dear,  which  may  be  welcome  when  it  is 
familiar ;  but  as  a  novelty,  it  is  more  strange  than  pleasing.  I 
speak  for  myself  at  least ;  you  know  I  would  never  affect  any- 
thing I  did  not  really  feel,  and  I  look  on  my  child  as  a  gift 
straight  from  heaven.  For  one  who  saw  in  it  rather  the  image 
of  the  man  she  loved,  it  might  be  different. 

But  enough  of  such  sad  thoughts,  gone,  I  trust,  forever. 

When  the  crisis  came,  I  summoned  all  my  powers  of  resist- 
ance, and  braced  myself  so  well  for  suffering,  that  I  bore  the 
horrible  agony — so  they  tell  me — quite  marvelously.  For 
about  an  hour  I  sank  into  a  sort  of  stupor,  of  the  nature  of  a 
dream.  I  seemed  to  myself  then  two  beings — an  outer  cover- 
ing racked  and  tortured  by  red-hot  pincers,  and  a  soul  at 
peace.  In  this  strange  state  the  pain  formed  itself  into  a  sort 
of  halo  hovering  over  me.  A  gigantic  rose  seemed  to  spring 
out  of  my  head  and  grow  ever  larger  and  larger,  till  it  enfolded 
me  in  its  blood-red  petals.  The  same  color  dyed  the  air 
around,  and  everything  I  saw  was  blood-red.  At  last  the 
climax  came,  when  soul  and  body  seemed  no  longer  able 
to  hold  together;  the  spasms  of  pain  gripped  me  like  death 


LETTERS   OF    TWO  BRIDES.  283' 

itself.  I  screamed  aloud,  and  found  fresh  strength  against 
this  further  torture.  Suddenly  this  concert  of  hideous  cries 
was  overborne  by  a  joyful  sound — the  shrill  wail  of  the  new- 
born infant.  No  words  can  describe  that  moment.  It  was  as 
though  the  universe  took  part  in  my  cries,  when  all  at  once 
the  chorus  of  pain  fell  hushed  before  the  child's  feeble  note. 

They  laid  me  back  again  in  the  large  bed,  and  it  felt  like 
paradise  to  me,  even  in  my  extreme  exhaustion.  Three  or 
four  happy  faces  pointed  through  tears  to  the  child.  My 
dear,  I  was  horrified. 

"  It's  just  like  a  little  monkey  !  "  I  cried.  "Are  you  really 
and  truly  certain  it  is  a  child  ?  " 

I  fell  back  on  my  side,  miserably  disappointed  at  my  first 
experience  of  motherly  feeling. 

"Don't  worry,  dear,"  said  my  mother,  who  had  installed 
herself  as  nurse.  "  Why,  you've  got  the  finest  baby  in  the 
world.  You  mustn't  excite  yourself;  but  give  your  whole 
mind  now  to  turning  yourself  as  much  as  possible  into  an 
animal,  a  milch  cow,  pasturing  in  the  meadow." 

I  fell  asleep  then,  fully  resolved  to  let  nature  have  her 
way. 

Ah  !  my  sweet,  how  heavenly  it  was  to  waken  up  from  all 
the  pain  and  haziness  of  the  first  days,  when  everything  was 
still  dim,  uncomfortable,  confused.  A  ray  of  light  pierced 
the  darkness ;  my  heart  and  soul,  ray  inner  self — a  self  I  had 
never  known  before — rent  the  envelope  of  gloomy  suffering, 
as  a  flower  bursts  its  calyx  at  the  first  warm  kiss  of  the  sun, 
at  the  moment  when  the  little  wretch  fastened  on  my  breast 
and  sucked.  Not  even  the  sensation  of  the  child's  first  cry 
was  so  exquisite  as  this.  This  is  the  dawn  of  motherhood,  this 
is  the  Fiat  lux  ! 

Here  is  happiness,  joy  ineffable,  though  it  comes  not  with- 
out pangs.  Oh  !  my  sweet  jealous  soul,  how  you  will  relish  a 
delight  which  exists  only  for  ourselves,  the  child,  and  God  ! 
For  this  tiny  creature  all   knowledge  is  summed  up  in  its 


284  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

mother's  breast.  This  is  the  one  bright  spot  in  its  world, 
toward  which  its  puny  strength  goes  forth.  Its  thoughts 
cluster  round  this  spring  of  life,  which  it  leaves  only  to  sleep, 
and  whither  it  returns  on  waking.  Its  lips  have  a  sweetness 
beyond  words,  and  their  pressure  is  at  once  a  pain  and  a 
delight,  a  delight  which  by  very  excess  becomes  pain,  or  a 
pain  which  culminates  in  delight.  The  sensation  which  rises 
from  it,  and  which  penetrates  to  the  very  core  of  my  life, 
baffles  all  description.  It  seems  a  sort  of  centre  whence  a 
myriad  joy-bearing  rays  gladden  the  heart  and  soul.  To 
bear  a  child  is  nothing ;  to  nourish  it  is  birth  renewed  every 
hour. 

Oh  !  Louise,  there  is  no  caress  of  lover  with  half  the  power 
of  those  little  pink  hands,  as  they  stray  about,  seeking  whereby 
to  lay  hold  on  life.  And  the  infant  glances,  now  turned  upon 
the  breast,  now  raised  to  meet  our  own  !  What  dreams  come 
to  us  as  we  watch  the  clinging  nursling!  All  our  powers, 
whether  of  mind  or  body,  are  at  its  service ;  for  it  we  breathe 
and  think,  in  it  our  longings  are  more  than  satisfied  !  The 
sweet  sensation  of  warmth  at  the  heart,  which  the  sound  of 
his  first  cry  brought  to  me — like  the  first  ray  of  sunshine  on 
the  earth — came  again  as  I  felt  the  milk  flow  into  his  mouth, 
again  as  his  eyes  met  mine,  and  at  this  moment  I  have  felt  it 
once  more  as  his  first  smile  gave  token  of  a  mind  working 
within — for  he  has  laughed,  my  dear  !  A  laugh,  a  glance,  a 
bite,  a  cry — four  miracles  of  gladness  which  go  straight  to  the 
heart  and  strike  chords  that  respond  to  no  other  touch.  A 
child  is  tied  to  our  heartstrings,  as  the  spheres  are  linked  to 
their  creator;  we  cannot  think  of  God  except  as  a  mother's 
heart  writ  large.  There  is  nothing  visible,  nothing  perceptible 
in  conception,  nor  even  in  pregnancy ;  it  is  only  in  the  act  of 
nursing  that  a  woman  realizes  her  motherhood  in  visible  and 
tangible  fashion  ;  it  is  a  joy  of  every  moment.  The  milk  be- 
comes flesh  before  our  eyes ;  it  blossoms  into  the  tips  of  those 
delicate  flower-like  fingers ;  it  expands  in  tender,  transparent 


LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES.  285 

nails ;  it  spins  the  silky  tresses ;  it  kicks  in  the  little  feet. 
Oh  !  those  baby  feet,  how  plainly  they  talk  to  us  !  In  them 
the  child  finds  its  first  language. 

Yes,  Louise,  to  feed,  to  suckle  !  is  a  miracle  of  transforma- 
tion going  on  before  one's  bewildered  eyes.  Those  cries, 
they  go  to  your  heart  and  not  your  ears ;  those  smiling  eyes 
and  lips,  those  plunging  feet,  they  speak  in  words  which  could 
not  be  plainer  if  God  traced  them  before  you  in  letters  of 
fire  !  What  else  is  there  in  the  world  to  care  about  ?  The 
father?  Why,  you  could  kill  him  if  he  dreamed  of  waking 
the  baby !  Just  as  the  child  is  the  world  to  us,  so  do  we 
stand  alone  in  the  world  for  the  child.  The  sweet  conscious- 
ness of  a  common  life  is  ample  recompense  for  all  the  trouble 
and  suffering — for  suffering  there  is.  Heaven  save  you, 
Louise,  from  ever  knowing  the  maddening  agony  of  a  broken 
breast  which  gapes  afresh  with  every  pressure  of  the  rosy  lips, 
and  is  so  hard  to  heal — the  heaviest  tax  perhaps  imposed  on 
beauty.  For  know,  Louise,  and  beware  !  it  visits  only  a  fair 
and  delicate  skin. 

My  little  ape  has  in  five  months  developed  into  the  prettiest 
darling  that  ever  mother  bathed  in  tears  of  joy,  washed, 
brushed,  combed,  and  made  smart ;  for  God  knows  what  un- 
wearied care  we  lavish  upon  these  tender  blossoms !  So  my 
monkey  has  ceased  to  exist,  and  behold  in  his  stead  a  "  baby," 
as  my  English  nurse  calls  him,  a  regular  pink-and-white  baby. 
He  cries  very  little  too  now,  for  he  is  conscious  of  the  love 
bestowed  on  him ;  indeed,  I  hardly  ever  leave  him,  and  I 
strive  to  wrap  him  around  in  the  atmosphere  of  my  love. 

Dear,  I  have  a  feeling  now  for  Louis  which  is  not  love,  but 
which  ought  to  be  the  crown  of  a  woman's  love  where  it 
exists.  Nay,  I  am  not  sure  whether  this  tender  fondness,  this 
unselfish  gratitude,  is  not  superior  to  love.  From  all  that  you 
have  told  me  of  it,  dear  pet,  I  gather  that  love  has  something 
terribly  earthly  about  it,  whilst  a  strain  of  holy  piety  purifies 
the  affection  a  happy  mother  feels  for  the  author  of  her  far- 


286  LETTERS   OF   TWO   BRIDES. 

reaching  and  enduring  joys.  A  mother's  happiness  is  like  a 
beacon,  lighting  up  the  future  but  reflected  also  on  the  past  in 
the  guise  of  fond  memories. 

The  old  I'Estorade  and  his  son  have,  moreover,  redoubled 
their  devotion  to  me  ;  I  am  like  a  new  person  to  them.  Every 
time  they  see  me  and  speak  to  me,  it  is  with  a  fresh  holiday 
joy,  which  touches  me  deeply.  The  grandfather  has,  I  verily 
believe,  turned  child  again  ;  he  looks  at  me  admiringly,  and 
the  first  time  I  came  down  to  lunch  he  was  moved  to  tears  to 
see  me  eating  and  suckling  his  grandson.  The  moisture  in 
these  dry  old  eyes,  generally  expressive  only  of  avarice,  was  a 
wonderful  comfort  to  me.  I  felt  that  the  good  soul  entered 
into  my  joy. 

As  for  Louis,  he  would  shout  aloud  to  the  trees  and  stones 
of  the  highway  that  he  has  a  son ;  and  he  spends  whole  hours 
watching  your  sleeping  godson.  He  does  not  know,  he  says, 
when  he  will  grow  used  to  it.  These  extravagant  expressions 
of  delight  show  me  how  great  must  have  been  their  fears  and 
apprehensions  beforehand.  Louis  has  confided  in  me  that  he 
had  believed  himself  condemned  to  be  childless.  Poor  felldw  ! 
he  has  all  at  once  developed  very  much,  and  he  works  even 
harder  than  he  did.  The  father  in  him  has  quickened  his 
ambition. 

For  myself,  dear  soul,  I  grow  happier  and  happier  every 
moment.  Each  hour  creates  a  fresh  tie  between  the  mother 
and  her  infant.  The  very  nature  of  my  feelings  proves  to  me 
that  they  are  normal,  permanent,  and  indestructible ;  whereas 
I  shrewdly  suspect  love,  for  instance,  of  being  intermittent. 
Certainly  it  is  not  the  same  at  all  moments,  the  flowers  which 
it  weaves  into  the  web  of  life  are  not  all  of  equal  brightness ; 
love,  in  short,  can  and  must  decline.  But  a  mother's  love 
has  no  ebb-tide  to  fear ;  rather  it  grows  with  the  growth  of  the 
child's  needs,  and  strengthens  with  its  strength.  Is  it  not  at 
once  a  passion,  a  natural  craving,  a  feeling,  a  duty,  a  neces- 
sity, a  joy  ?    Yes,  darling,  here  is  woman's  true  sphere.     Here 


LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES.  287 

the  passion  for  self-sacrifice  can  expend  itself,  and  no  jealousy 
intrudes. 

Here,  too,  is  perhaps  the  single  point  on  which  society  and 
nature  are  at  one.  Society,  in  this  matter,  enforces  the  dic- 
tates of  nature,  strengthening  the  maternal  instinct  by  adding 
to  it  family  spirit  and  the  desire  of  perpetuating  a  name,  a 
race,  an  estate.  How  tenderly  must  not  a  woman  cherish  the 
child  who  has  been  the  first  to  open  up  to  her  these  joys,  the 
first  to  call  forth  the  energies  of  her  nature  and  to  instruct  her 
in  the  grand  art  of  motherhood  !  The  right  of  the  eldest, 
which  in  the  earliest  times  formed  a  part  of  the  natural  order 
and  was  lost  in  the  origins  of  society,  ought  never,  in  my 
opinion,  to  have  been  questioned.  Ah  !  how  much  a  mother 
learns  from  her  child  !  The  constant  protection  of  a  helpless 
being  forces  us  to  so  strict  an  alliance  with  virtue  that  a 
woman  never  shows  to  full  advantage  except  as  a  mother. 
Then  alone  can  her  character  expand  in  the  fulfillment  of  all 
life's  duties  and  the  enjoyment  of  all  its  pleasures.  A  woman 
who  is  not  a  mother  is  maimed  and  incomplete.  Hasten, 
then,  my  sweetest,  to  fulfill  your  mission.  Your  present  hap- 
piness will  then  be  multiplied  by  the  wealth  of  my  delights. 

23^. 
I  had  to  tear  myself  from  you  because  your  godson  was  cry- 
ing. I  can  hear  his  cry  from  the  bottom  of  the  garden.  But 
I  would  not  let  this  go  without  a  word  of  farewell,  I  have 
just  been  reading  over  what  I  have  said,  and  am  horrified  to 
see  how  vulgar  are  the  feelings  expressed !  What  I  feel, 
every  mother,  alas  !  since  the  beginning  must  have  felt,  I 
suppose,  in  the  same  way,  and  put  into  the  same  words.  You 
will  laugh  at  me,  as  we  do  at  the  naive  father  who  dilates  on 
the  beauty  and  cleverness  of  his  (of  course)  quite  exceptional 
offspring.  But  the  refrain  of  my  letter,  darling,  is  this,  and  I 
repeat  it :  I  am  as  happy  now  as  I  used  to  be  miserable. 
This  grange — and  is  it  not  going  to  be  an  estate,  a  family 


288  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

property? — has  become  my  land  of  promise.  The  desert  is 
past  and  over.  A  thousand  loves,  darling  pet.  Write  to  me, 
for  now  I  can  read  without  a  tear  the  tale  of  your  happy  love. 
Farewell. 


XXXII. 

MME.  DE   MACUMER  TO   MME.  DE  l'eSTORADE. 

March,  1826. 

Do  you  know,  dear,  that  it  is  more  than  three  months  since 
I  have  written  you  or  heard  from  you  ?  I  am  the  more 
guilty  of  the  two,  for  I  did  not  reply  to  your  last,  but  you 
don't  stand  on  punctilio  surely? 

Macumer  and  I  have  taken  your  silence  for  consent  as 
regards  the  baby-wreathed  luncheon  service,  and  the  little 
cherubs  are  starting  this  morning  for  Marseilles.  It  took  six 
months  to  carry  out  the  design.  And  so,  when  Felipe  asked 
me  to  come  and  see  the  service  before  it  was  packed,  I  sud- 
denly waked  up  to  the  fact  that  we  had  not  interchanged  a 
word  since  the  letter  of  yours  which  gave  me  an  insight  into 
a  mother's  heart. 

My  sweet,  it  is  this  terrible  Paris — there's  my  excuse. 
What,  pray,  is  yours  ?  Oh !  what  a  whirlpool  is  society ! 
Didn't  I  tell  you  once  that  in  Paris  one  must  be  as  the  Par- 
isians ?  Society  there  drives  out  all  sentiment ;  it  lays  an 
embargo  on  your  time  ;  and  unless  you  are  very  careful,  soon 
eats  away  your  heart  altogether.  What  an  amazing  master- 
piece is  the  character  of  Celim^ne  in  Moli^re's  "  Le  Misan- 
thrope !  "  She  is  the  society  woman,  not  only  of  Louis 
XIV. 's  time,  but  of  our  own,  and  of  all  epochs. 

Where  sliould  I  be  but  for  my  breastplate — the  love  I  bear 
Felipe?  This  very  morning  I  told  him,  as  the  outcome  of 
these  reflections,  that  he  was  my  salvation.  If  my  evenings 
are  a  continuous  round  of  parties,  balls,  concerts,  and  theatres, 


LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES.  289 

at  night  my  heart  expands  again,  and  is  healed  of  the  wounds 
received  in  the  world  by  the  delights  of  the  passionate  love 
which  await  my  return. 

I  dine  at  home  only  when  we  have  friends,  so-called,  with 
us,  and  spend  the  afternoon  there  only  on  my  day,  for  I  have 
a  day  now — Wednesday — for  receiving.  I  have  entered  the 
lists  with  Mmes.  d'Espard  and  de  Maufrigneuse,  and  with  the 
old  Duchesse  de  Lenoncourt,  and  my  house  has  the  reputation 
of  being  a  very  lively  one.  I  allowed  myself  to  become  the 
fashion,  because  I  saw  how  much  pleasure  my  success  gave 
Felipe.  My  mornings  are  his ;  from  four  in  the  afternoon  till 
two  in  the  morning  I  belong  to  Paris.  Macumer  makes  an 
admirable  host,  witty  and  dignified,  perfect  in  courtesy,  and 
with  an  air  of  real  distinction.  No  woman  could  help  loving 
such  a  husband  even  if  she  had  chosen  him  without  consulting 
her  heart. 

My  father  and  mother  have  left  for  Madrid.  Louis  XVIIl, 
being  out  of  the  way,  the  duchess  had  no  difficulty  in  obtain- 
ing from  our  good-natured  Charles  X.  the  appointment  of 
her  fascinating  poet ;  so  he  is  carried  off  in  the  capacity  of 
attache. 

My  brother,  the  Due  de  Rh^tor^,  deigns  to  recognize  me 
as  a  person  of  mark.  As  for  my  younger  brother,  the  Comte 
de  Chaulieu,  this  dandy  warrior  owes  me  everlasting  gratitude. 
Before  my  father  left,  he  spent  my  fortune  in  acquiring  for  the 
count  an  estate  of  forty  thousand  francs  a  year,  entailed  on  the 
title,  and  his  marriage  with  Mile,  de  Mortsauf,  an  heiress 
from  Touraine,  is  definitely  arranged.  The  King,  in  order  to 
preserve  the  name  and  titles  of  the  de  Lenoncourt  and  de 
Givry  families  from  extinction,  is  to  confer  these,  together 
with  the  armorial  bearings,  by  patent  on  my  brother.  Cer- 
tainly it  would  never  have  done  to  allow  these  two  fine  names 
and  their  splendid  motto :  Faciem  semper  tnonstramus,  to 
perish.  Mile,  de  Mortsauf,  who  is  granddaughter  and  sole 
heiress  of  the  Due  de  Lenoncourt-Givry,  will,  it  is  said,  in- 
19 


290  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

herit  altogether  more  than  one  hundred  thousand  livres  a  year. 
The  only  stipulation  my  father  has  made  is  that  the  de 
Chaulieu  arms  should  appear  in  the  centre  of  the  de  Lenon- 
court  escutcheon.  Thus  my  brother  will  be  Due  de  Lenon- 
court.  The  young  de  Mortsauf,  to  whom  everything  would 
otherwise  go,  is  in  the  last  stage  of  consumption  ;  his  death 
is  looked  for  every  day.  The  marriage  will  take  place  next 
winter  when  the  family  are  out  of  mourning.  I  am  told  that 
I  shall  have  a  charming  sister-in-law  in  Mile,  de  Mortsauf. 

So  you  see  that  my  father's  reasoning  is  justified.  The 
outcome  of  it  all  has  won  me  many  compliments,  and  my 
marriage  is  explained  to  everybody's  satisfaction.  To  com- 
plete our  success,  the  Prince  de  Talleyrand,  out  of  affection 
for  my  grandmother,  is  showing  himself  a  warm  friend  to 
Macumer.  Society,  which  began  by  criticising  me,  has  now 
passed  to  cordial  admiration. 

In  short,  I  now  reign  a  queen  where,  barely  two  years  ago, 
I  was  an  insignificant  item.  Macumer  finds  himself  the  object 
of  universal  envy,  as  the  husband  of  **  the  most  charming 
woman  in  Paris."  At  least  a  score  of  women,  as  you  know, 
are  always  in  that  proud  position.  Men  murmur  sweet  things 
in  my  ear,  or  content  themselves  with  greedy  glances.  This 
chorus  of  longing  and  admiration  is  so  soothing  to  one's 
vanity,  that  I  confess  I  begin  to  understand  the  unconscion- 
able price  women  are  ready  to  pay  for  such  frail  and  pre- 
carious privileges.  A  triumph  of  this  kind  is  like  strong  wine 
to  vanity,  self-love,  and  all  the  self-regarding  feelings.  To 
pose  perpetually  as  a  divinity  is  a  draught  so  potent  in  its  in- 
toxicating effects  that  I  am  no  longer  surprised  to  see  women 
grow  selfish,  callous,  and  frivolous  in  the  heart  of  this  adora- 
tion. The  fumes  of  society  mount  to  the  head.  You  lavish 
the  wealth  of  your  soul  and  spirit,  the  treasures  of  your  time, 
the  noblest  efforts  of  your  will,  upon  a  crowd  of  people  who 
repay  you  in  smiles  and  jealousy.  The  false  coin  of  their 
pretty  speeches,  compliments,  and  flattery  is  the  only  return 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  291 

they  give  for  the  solid  gold  of  your  courage  and  sacrifices, 
and  all  the  thought  that  must  go  to  keep  up  without  flagging 
the  standard  of  beauty,  dress,  sparkling  talk,  and  general 
affability.  You  are  perfectly  aware  how  much  it  costs,  and 
that  the  whole  thing  is  a  fraud,  but  you  cannot  keep  out  of 
the  vortex. 

Ah !  my  sweet  dear,  how  one  craves  for  a  real  friend  ! 
How  precious  to  me  are  the  love  and  devotion  of  Felipe,  and 
how  my  heart  goes  out  to  you  !  Joyfully  indeed  are  we  pre- 
paring for  our  move  to  Chantepleurs,  where  we  can  rest  from 
the  comedy  of  the  Rue  du  Bac  and  of  the  Paris  drawing-rooms. 
Having  just  read  your  letter  again,  I  feel  that  I  cannot  better 
describe  this  demoniac  paradise  than  by  saying  that  no  woman 
of  fashion  in  Paris  can  possibly  be  a  good  mother. 

Good-by,  then,  for  a  short  time,  dear  one.  We  shall  stay  at 
Chantepleurs  only  a  week  at  most,  and  shall  be  with  you  about 
May  loth.  So  we  are  actually  to  meet  again  after  more  than 
two  years !  What  changes  since  then  !  Here  we  are,  both 
matrons,  both  in  our  promised  land — I  of  love,  you  of 
motherhood. 

If  I  have  not  written,  my  sweetest,  it  is  not  because  I  have 
forgotten  you.  And  what  of  the  monkey  godson  ?  Is  he  still 
pretty  and  a  credit  to  me?  He  must  be  more  than  nine 
months  old  now.  I  should  dearly  like  to  be  present  when  he 
makes  his  first  steps  upon  this  earth ;  but  Macumer  tells  me 
that  even  precocious  infants  hardly  walk  at  ten  months. 

We  shall  have  some  good  gossiping  talks  there,  and  "  cut 
pinafores,"  as  the  Blois  folks  say.  I  shall  see,  too,  whether 
childbearing  ''spoils  the  pattern,"  as  they  say. 

P.  S. — If  you  deign  to  reply  from  your  maternal  heights, 
address  to  Chantepleurs.     I  am  just  off. 


292  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

XXXIII. 

MME.  DE   l'eSTORADE   TO   MME.  DE   MACUMER. 

My  Child  : — If  ever  you  become  a  mother,  you  will  find 
out  that  it  is  impossible  to  write  letters  during  the  first  two 
months  of  your  nursing,  Mary,  my  English  nurse,  and  I  are 
both  quite  tired  out.  It  is  true  I  had  not  told  you  that  I  was 
determined  to  do  everything  myself.  Before  the  event  I  had 
with  my  own  fingers  sewn  the  baby  clothes  and  embroidered 
and  edged  with  lace  the  little  caps.  I  am  a  slave,  my  pet,  a 
slave  day  and  night. 

To  begin  with,  Master  Armand-Louis  takes  his  meals  when 
it  pleases  him,  and  that  is  always ;  then  he  has  often  to  be 
changed,  washed,  and  dressed.  His  mother  is  so  fond  of 
watching  him  asleep,  of  singing  songs  to  him,  of  walking  him 
about  in  her  arms  on  a  fine  day,  that  she  has  little  time  left 
to  attend  to  herself.  In  short,  what  society  has  been  to  you, 
my  child — our  child — has  been  to  me  ! 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  full  and  rich  my  life  has  become,  and 
I  long  for  your  coming  that  you  may  see  for  yourself.  The 
only  thing  is,  I  am  afraid  he  will  soon  be  teething,  and  that 
you  will  find  a  peevish,  crying  baby.  So  far  he  has  not  cried 
much,  for  I  am  always  at  hand.  Babies  only  cry  when  their 
wants  are  not  understood,  and  I  am  constantly  on  the  look- 
out for  his.  Oh  !  ray  sweet,  my  heart  has  opened  up  so  wide, 
while  you  allow  yours  to  shrink  and  shrivel  at  the  bidding  of 
society !  I  look  for  your  coming  with  all  a  hermit's  longing. 
I  want  so  much  to  know  what  you  think  of  I'Estorade,  just  as 
you  no  doubt  are  curious  for  my  opinion  of  Macumer. 

Write  to  me  from  your  last  resting-place.  The  gentlemen 
want  to  go  and  meet  our  distinguished  guests.  Come,  Queen 
of  Paris,  come  to  our  humble  grange,  where  love  at  least  will 
greet  you ! 


LETTERS  OF   TWO  BRIDES.  298 

XXXIV. 

MME.    DE   MACUMER   TO   THE   VICOMTESSE   DE   l'eSTORADE, 

Af7-il,  1826. 

The  name  on  this  address  will  tell  you,  dear,  that  my  peti- 
tion has  been  granted.  Your  father-in-law  is  now  Comte  de 
I'Estorade,  I  would  not  leave  Paris  till  I  had  obtained  the 
gratification  of  your  wishes,  and  I  am  writing  in  the  presence 
of  the  keeper  of  the  seals,  who  has  come  to  tell  me  that  the 
patent  is  signed. 

Good-by  for  a  short  time  ! 

XXXV. 

THE    SAME   TO   THE   SAME, 

Marseilles,  July. 

I  am  ashamed  to  think  how  my  sudden  flight  from  La 
Crampade  will  have  taken  you  by  surprise.  But  since  I  am 
above  all  honest,  and  since  I  love  you  not  one  bit  the  less,  I 
shall  tell  you  the  truth  in  four  words  :     I  am  horribly  jealous  ! 

Felipe's  eyes  were  too  often  on  you.  You  used  to  have 
little  talks  together  at  the  foot  of  your  rock,  which  were  a 
torture  to  me ;  and  I  was  fast  becoming  irritable  and  unlike 
myself.  Your  truly  Spanish  beauty  could  not  fail  to  recall  to 
him  his  native  land,  and  along  with  it  Marie  Her^dia,  and  I 
can  be  jealous  of  the  past  too.  Your  magnificent  black  hair, 
your  lovely  dark  eyes,  your  brow,  where  the  peaceful  joy  of 
motherhood  stands  out  radiant  against  the  shadows  which  tell 
of  past  suffering,  the  freshness  of  your  southern  skin,  far  fairer 
than  that  of  a  blonde  like  me,  the  splendid  lines  of  your  figure, 
the  breasts,  on  which  my  godson  hangs,  peeping  through  the 


294  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

lace  like  some  luscious  fruit — all  this  stabbed  me  in  the  eyes 
and  in  the  heart.  In  vain  did  I  stick  blue  cornflowers  in  my 
curls,  in  vain  set  off"  with  cherry-colored  ribbons  the  tameness 
of  my  pale  locks,  everything  looked  washed  out  when  Renee 
appeared — a  Ren^e  so  unlike  the  one  I  expected  to  find  in 
your  oasis. 

Then  F6lipe  made  too  much  of  the  child,  whom  I  found 
myself  beginning  to  hate.  Yes,  I  confess  it,  that  exuberance 
of  life  which  fills  your  house,  making  it  gay  with  shouts  and 
laughter — I  wanted  it  for  myself.  I  read  a  regret  in  Macu- 
mer's  eyes,  and,  unknown  to  him,  I  cried  over  it  two  whole 
nights.  I  was  miserable  in  your  house.  You  are  too  beauti- 
ful as  a  woman,  too  triumphant  as  a  mother,  for  me  to  endure 
your  company. 

Ah  !  you  complained  of  your  lot.  Hypocrite  !  What  would 
you  have  ?  L'Estorade  is  most  presentable ;  he  talks  well ;  he 
has  fine  eyes ;  and  his  black  hair,  dashed  with  white,  is  very 
becoming ;  his  southern  manners,  too,  have  something  attrac- 
tive about  them.  As  far  as  I  can  make  out,  he  will,  sooner  or 
later,  be  elected  deputy  for  the  Bouches-du-Rhone ;  in  the 
Chamber  he  is  sure  to  come  to  the  front,  for  you  can  always 
count  on  me  to  promote  your  interests.  The  sufferings  of  his 
exile  have  given  him  that  calm  and  dignified  air  which  goes 
half-way,  in  my  opinion,  to  make  a  statesman.  For  the  whole 
art  of  politics,  dear,  seems  to  me  to  consist  in  looking  grave. 
At  this  rate,  Macumer,  as  I  told  him,  ought  certainly  to  have 
a  high  position  in  the  State. 

And  so,  having  completely  satisfied  myself  of  your  happi- 
ness, I  fly  off"  contented  to  my  dear  Chantepleurs,  where  Felipe 
must  really  achieve  his  aspirations.  I  have  made  up  my  mind 
not  to  receive  you  there  without  a  fine  baby  at  ray  breast  to 
match  yours. 

Oh  !  I  know  very  well  I  deserve  all  the  epithets  you  can 
hurl  at  me.  I  am  a  fool,  a  wretch,  an  idiot.  Alas  !  that  is 
just  what  jealousy  means.     I  am  not  vexed  with  you,  but  I 


LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES.  295 

was  miserable,  and  you  will  forgive  me  for  escaping  from  my 
misery.  Two  days  more,  and  I  should  have  made  an  exhibi- 
tion of  myself;  yes,  there  would  have  been  an  outbreak  of 
"bad  form." 

But  in  spite  of  the  rage  gnawing  at  my  heart,  I  am  glad  to 
have  come,  glad  to  have  seen  you  in  the  pride  of  your  beauti- 
ful motherhood,  my  friend  still,  as  I  remain  yours  in  all  the 
absorption  of  my  love.  Why,  even  here  at  Marseilles,  only 
a  step  from  your  door,  I  begin  to  feel  proud  of  you  and  of  the 
splendid  mother  that  you  will  make. 

How  well  you  judged  your  vocation  !  You  seem  to  me 
born  for  the  part  of  mother  rather  than  of  lover,  exactly  as 
the  reverse  is  true  of  me.  There  are  women  capable  of 
neither,  hard-favored  or  silly  women.  A  good  mother  and 
a  passionately  loving  wife  have  this  in  common,  that  they 
both  need  intelligence  and  discretion  ever  at  hand,  and  an 
unfailing  command  of  every  womanly  art  and  grace.  Oh  ! 
I  watched  you  well ;  need  I  add,  sly  puss,  that  I  admired  you 
too  ?  Your  children  will  be  happy,  but  not  spoilt,  with  your 
tenderness  lapping  them  around  and  the  clear  light  of  your 
reason  playing  softly  on  them. 

Tell  Louis  the  truth  about  my  going  away,  but  find  some 
decent  excuse  for  your  father-in-law,  who  seems  to  act  as 
steward  for  the  establishment ;  and  be  careful  to  do  the  same 
for  your  family — a  true  Provencal  version  of  the  Harlowe 
family.  Felipe  does  not  yet  know  why  I  left,  and  he  will 
never  know.  If  he  asks,  I  shall  contrive  to  find  some  color- 
able pretext,  probably  that  you  were  jealous  of  me  !  Forgive 
me  this  little  conventional  fib. 

Good-by.  I  write  in  haste,  as  I  want  you  to  get  this  at 
lunch-time ;  and  the  postillion,  who  has  undertaken  to  con- 
vey it  to  you,  is  here  refreshing  himself  while  he  waits. 

Many  kisses  to  my  dear  little  godson.  Be  sure  you  come 
to  Chantepleurs  in  October.  I  shall  be  alone  there  all  the 
time  that  Macumer  is  away  in  Sardinia,  where  he  is  designing 


296  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

great  improvements  in  his  estate.  At  least  that  is  his  plan  for 
the  moment,  and  his  pet  vanity  consists  in  having  a  plan. 
Then  he  feels  that  he  has  a  will  of  his  own,  and  this  makes 
him  very  uneasy  when  he  unfolds  it  to  me.     Good -by  ! 

XXXVI. 

THE  VICOMTESSE   DE   l'eSTORADE   TO   THE   BARONNE   DE 

MACUMER. 

Dear: — No  words  can  express  the  astonishment  of  all  our 
party  when,  at  luncheon,  we  were  told  that  you  had  both 
gone,  and,  above  all,  when  the  postillion  who  took  you  to 
Marseilles  handed  me  your  mad  letter.  Why,  naughty  child, 
it  was  your  happiness,  and  nothing  else,  that  made  the  theme 
of  those  talks  below  the  rock,  on  the  **  Louise  "  seat,  and  you 
had  not  the  faintest  justification  for  objecting  to  them. 
Jngrata  /  My  sentence  on  you  is  that  you  return  here  at  my 
first  summons.  In  that  horrid  letter,  scribbled  on  the  inn 
paper,  you  did  not  tell  me  what  would  be  your  next  stopping 
place ;  so  I  must  address  this  to  Chantepleurs. 

Listen  to  me,  dear  sister  of  my  heart.  Know,  first,  that 
ray  mind  is  set  on  your  happiness.  Your  husband,  dear 
Louise,  commands  respect,  not  only  by  his  natural  gravity 
and  dignified  expression,  but  also  because  he  somehow  im- 
presses one  with  the  depth  of  his  mind  and  thoughts.  Add 
to  this  the  splendid  power  revealed  in  his  piquant  plainness 
and  in  the  fire  of  his  velvet  eyes ;  and  you  will  understand 
that  it  was  some  little  time  before  I  could  meet  him  on  those 
easy  terms  which  are  almost  necessary  for  intimate  conver- 
sation. Further,  this  man  has  been  prime  minister,  and  he 
idolizes  you ;  whence  it  follows  that  he  must  be  a  profound 
dissembler.  To  fish  up  secrets,  therefore,  from  the  rocky 
caverns  of  this  diplomatic  soul  is  a  work  demanding  a  skillful 
hand  no  less  than  a  ready  brain.     Nevertheless,  I  succeeded 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  297 

at  last,  without  rousing  my  victim's  suspicions,  in  discovering 
many  things  of  which  you,  my  pet,  have  no  conception. 

You  know  that,  between  us  two,  my  part  is  rather  that  of 
reason,  yours  of  imagination  :  I  personify  sober  duty,  you 
reckless  love.  It  has  pleased  fate  to  continue  in  our  lives  this 
contrast  in  character  which  was  imperceptible  to  all  except 
ourselves.  I  am  a  simple  country  viscountess,  very  ambitious, 
and  making  it  her  task  to  lead  her  family  on  the  road  to  pros- 
perity. On  the  other  hand,  Macumer,  late  Due  de  Soria,  has 
a  name  in  the  world,  and  you,  a  duchess  by  right,  reign  in 
Paris,  where  reigning  is  no  easy  matter  even  for  kings.  You 
have  a  considerable  fortune,  which  will  be  doubled  if  Macumer 
carries  out  his  projects  for  developing  his  great  estates  in 
Sardinia,  the  resources  of  which  are  matter  of  common  talk  at 
Marseilles.  Deny,  if  you  can,  that  if  either  has  a  right  to  be 
jealous,  it  is  not  you.  But,  thank  God,  we  have  both  hearts 
generous  enough  to  place  our  friendship  beyond  reach  of  such 
vulgar  pettiness. 

I  know  you,  dear ;  I  know  that,  ere  now,  you  are  ashamed 
of  having  fled.  But  don't  suppose  that  your  flight  will  save 
you  from  a  single  word  of  the  discourse  which  I  had  prepared 
for  your  benefit  to-day  beneath  the  rock.  Read  carefully  then, 
I  beg  of  you,  what  I  say,  for  it  concerns  you  even  more 
closely  than  Macumer,  though  he  also  enters  largely  into  my 
sermon. 

Firstly,  my  dear,  you  do  not  love  him.  Before  two  years 
are  over,  you  will  be  sick  of  adoration.  You  will  never  look 
on  Felipe  as  a  husband ;  to  you  he  will  always  be  the  lover 
whom  you  can  play  with,  for  that  is  how  all  women  treat  their 
lovers.  You  do  not  look  up  to  him,  or  reverence,  or  worship 
^im  as  a  woman  should  the  god  of  her  idolatry.  You  see,  I 
have  made  a  study  of  love,  my  sweet,  and  more  than  once 
have  I  taken  soundings  in  the  depths  of  my  own  heart.  Now, 
as  the  result  of  a  careful  diagnosis  of  your  case,  I  can  say  with 
confidence,  this  is  not  love. 


298  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

Yes,  dear  Queen  of  Paris,  you  cannot  escape  thedestiny  of  all 
queens.  The  day  will  come  when  you  will  long  to  be  treated 
as  a  light-o'-love,  to  be  mastered  and  swept  off  your  feet  by  a 
strong  man,  one  who  will  not  prostrate  himself  in  adoration 
before  you,  but  will  seize  your  arm  roughly  in  a  fit  of  jealousy. 
Macumer  loves  you  too  fondly  ever  to  be  able  either  to  resist 
you  or  find  fault  with  you.  A  single  glance  from  you,  a 
single  coaxing  word,  would  melt  his  sternest  resolution. 
Sooner  or  later,  you  will  learn  to  scorn  this  excessive  de- 
votion. He  spoilt  you,  alas !  just  as  I  used  to  spoil  you  at 
the  convent,  for  you  are  a  most  bewitching  woman,  and  there 
is  no  escaping  your  siren-like  charms. 

Worse  than  all,  you  are  candid,  and  it  often  happens  that 
our  happiness  depends  on  certain  social  hypocrisies  to  which 
you  will  never  stoop.  For  instance,  society  will  not  tolerate  a 
frank  display  of  the  wife's  power  over  her  husband.  The 
convention  is  that  a  man  must  no  more  show  himself  the  lover 
of  his  wife,  however  passionately  he  adores  her,  than  a  married 
woman  may  play  the  part  of  a  mistress.  This  rule  you  both 
disregard. 

In  the  first  place,  my  child,  from  what  you  have  yourself 
told  me,  it  is  clear  that  the  one  unpardonable  sin  in  society 
is  to  be  happy.  If  happiness  exists,  no  one  must  know  of  it. 
But  this  is  a  small  point.  What  seems  to  me  important  is 
that  the  perfect  equality  which  reigns  between  lovers  ought 
never  to  appear  in  the  case  of  husband  and  wife,  under  pain 
of  undermining  the  whole  fabric  of  society  and  entailing 
terrible  disasters.  If  it  is  painful  to  see  a  man  whom  nature 
has  made  a  nonenity,  how  much  worse  is  the  spectacle  of  a 
man  of  parts  brought  to  that  position  ?  Before  very  long  you 
will  have  reduced  Macumer  to  the  mere  shadow  of  a  man. 
He  will  cease  to  have  a  will  and  character  of  his  own,  and 
become  mere  clay  in  your  hands.  You  will  have  so  com- 
pletely moulded  him  to  your  likeness  that  your  household  will 
consist  of  only  one  person  instead  of  two,  and  that  one  neces- 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  299 

sarily  imperfect.  You  will  regret  it  bitterly ;  but  when  at 
last  you  deign  to  open  your  eyes,  the  evil  will  be  past  cure. 
Do  what  we  will,  women  do  not,  and  never  will,  possess  the 
qualities  which  are  characteristic  of  men,  and  these  qualities 
are  absolutely  indispensable  to  family  life.  Already  Macumer, 
blinded  though  he  is,  has  a  dim  foreshadowing  of  this  future; 
he  feels  himself  less  a  man  through  his  love.  His  visit  to 
Sardinia  is  a  proof  to  me  that  he  hopes  by  this  temporary 
separation  to  succeed  in  recovering  his  old  self. 

You  never  scruple  to  use  the  power  which  his  love  has 
placed  in  your  hand.  Your  position  of  vantage  may  be  read 
in  a  gesture,  a  look,  a  tone.  Oh  !  darling,  how  truly  are  you 
the  mad  wanton  your  mother  called  you  !  You  do  not  ques- 
tion, I  fancy,  that  I  am  greatly  Louis'  superior.  Well,  I 
would  ask  you,  have  you  ever  heard  me  contradict  him?  Am 
I  not  always,  in  the  presence  of  others,  the  wife  who  respects 
in  him  the  authority  of  the  family?  Hypocrisy  !  you  will  say. 
Well,  listen  to  me.  It  is  true  that  if  I  want  to  give  him 
any  advice  which  I  think  may  be  of  use  to  him,  I  wait  for  the 
quiet  and  seclusion  of  our  bedroom  to  explain  what  I  think 
and  wish ;  but,  I  assure  you,  sweetheart,  that  even  there  I 
never  arrogate  to  myself  the  place  of  mentor.  If  I  did  not 
remain  in  private  the  same  submissive  wife  that  I  appear  to 
others,  he  would  lose  confidence  in  himself.  Dear,  the  good 
we  do  to  others  is  spoilt  unless  we  efface  ourselves  so  com- 
pletely that  those  we  help  have  no  sense  of  inferiority.  There 
is  a  wonderful  sweetness  in  these  hidden  sacrifices,  and  what  a 
triumph  for  me  in  your  unsuspecting  praises  of  Louis  !  There 
can  be  no  doubt  also  that  the  happiness,  the  comfort,  the 
hope  of  the  last  two  years  have  restored  what  misfortune, 
hardship,  solitude,  and  despondency  had  robbed  him  of. 

This,  then,  is  the  sum-total  of  my  observations.  At  the 
present  moment  you  love  in  Felipe,  not  your  husband,  but 
yourself.  There  is  truth  in  your  father's  words ;  concealed 
by  the  spring  flowers  of  your  passion  lies  all  a  great  lady's 


300  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

selfishness.  Ah  !  my  child,  how  I  must  love  you  to  speak 
such  bitter  truths ! 

Let  me  tell  you,  if  you  will  promise  never  to  breathe  a 
word  of  this  to  the  baron,  the  end  of  our  talk.  We  had 
been  singing  your  praises  in  every  key,  for  he  soon  discovered 
that  I  loved  you  like  a  fondly  cherished  sister,  and,  having 
insensibly  brought  him  to  a  confidential  mood,  I  ventured  to 
say — 

"  Louise  has  never  yet  had  to  struggle  with  life.  She  has 
been  the  spoilt  child  of  fortune,  and  she  might  yet  have  to 
pay  for  this  were  you  not  there  to  act  the  part  of  father  as 
well  as  lover." 

"Ah!  but  is  it   possible? "     He  broke  off  abruptly, 

like  a  man  who  sees  himself  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice.  But 
the  exclamation  was  enough  for  me.  No  doubt,  if  you  had 
stayed,  he  would  have  spoken  more  freely  later. 

My  sweet,  think  of  the  day  awaiting  you  when  your  hus- 
band's strength  will  be  exhausted,  when  pleasure  will  have 
turned  to  satiety,  and  he  sees  himself,  I  will  not  say  degraded, 
but  shorn  of  his  proper  dignity  before  you.  The  stings  of 
conscience  will  then  waken  a  sort  of  remorse  in  him,  all  the 
more  painful  for  you,  because  you  will  feel  yourself  respon- 
sible, and  you  will  end  by  despising  the  man  whom  you  have 
not  accustomed  yourself  to  respect.  Remember,  too,  that 
scorn  with  a  woman  is  only  the  earliest  phase  of  hatred.  You 
are  too  noble  and  generous,  I  know,  ever  to  forget  the  sacri- 
fices which  Felipe  has  made  for  you ;  but  what  further  sacri- 
fices will  be  left  for  him  to  make  when  he  has,  so  to  speak, 
served  up  himself  at  the  first  banquet?  Woe  to  the  man,  as 
to  the  woman,  who  has  left  no  desire  unsatisfied  !  All  is  over 
then.  To  our  shame  or  our  glory — the  point  is  too  nice  for 
me  to  decide — it  is  of  love  alone  that  women  are  insatiable. 

Oh !  Louise,  change  yet,  while  there  is  still  time.  If  you 
would  only  adopt  the  same  course  with  Macumer  that  I  have 
done  with  I'Estorade,  you  might  rouse  the  sleeping  lion  in 


LETTERS   OE  TWO  BRIDES.  301 

your  husband,  who  is  made  of  the  stuff  of  heroes.  One  might 
almost  say  that  you  grudge  him  his  greatness.  Would  you 
feel  no  pride  in  using  your  power  for  other  ends  than  your 
own  gratification,  in  awakening  the  genius  of  a  gifted  man, 
as  I  in  raising  to  a  higher  level  one  of  merely  common 
parts  ? 

Had  you  remained  with  us,  I  should  still  have  written  this 
letter,  for  in  talking  you  might  have  cut  me  short  or  got  the 
better  of  me  with  your  sharp  tongue.  But  I  know  that  you 
will  read  this  thoughtfully  and  weigh  my  warnings.  Dear 
heart,  you  have  everything  in  life  to  make  you  happy,  do  not 
spoil  your  chances ;  return  to  Paris,  I  entreat  you,  as  soon  as 
Macumer  comes  back.  The  engrossing  claims  of  society,  of 
which  I  complained,  are  necessary  for  both  of  you ;  otherwise 
you  would  spend  your  life  in  mutual  self-absorption.  A  mar- 
ried woman  ought  not  to  be  too  lavish  of  herself.  The  mother 
of  a  family,  who  never  gives  her  household  an  opportunity  of 
missing  her,  runs  the  risk  of  palling  on  them.  If  I  have 
several  children,  as  I  trust  for  my  own  sake  I  may,  I  assure 
you  I  shall  make  a  point  of  reserving  to  myself  certain  hours 
which  shall  be  held  sacred ;  even  to  one's  children  one's 
presence  should  not  be  a  matter  of  daily  bread. 

Farewell,  my  dear  jealous  soul  !  Do  you  know  that  many 
women  would  be  highly  flattered  at  having  roused  this  passing 
pang  in  you?  Alas!  I  can  only  mourn,  for  what  is  not 
mother  in  me  is  your  dear  friend.  A  thousand  loves.  Make 
what  excuse  you  will  for  leaving;  if  you  are  not  sure  of 
Macumer,  I  am  sure  of  Louis. 


302  LETTEkS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 


XXXVII. 

the  baronne  de  macumer  to  the  vicomtesse  de 
l'estorade. 

Genoa. 

My  beloved  Beauty  : — I  was  bitten  with  the  fancy  to  see 
something  of  Italy,  and  I  am  delighted  at  having  carried  off 
Macumer,  whose  plans  in  regard  to  Sardinia  are  postponed. 

This  country  is  simply  ravishing.  The  churches — above 
all,  the  chapels — have  a  seductive,  bewitching  air,  which  must 
make  every  female  Protestant  yearn  after  Catholicism.  Ma- 
cumer has  been  received  with  acclamation,  and  they  are  all 
delighted  to  have  made  an  Italian  of  so  distinguished  a  man. 
Felipe  could  have  the  Sardinian  embassy  at  Paris  if  I  cared 
about  it,  for  I  am  made  much  of  at  Court. 

If  you  write,  address  your  letters  to  Florence.  I  have  not 
time  now  to  go  into  any  details,  but  I  will  tell  you  the  story 
of  our  travels  whenever  you  come  to  Paris.  We  only  remain 
here  a  week,  and  then  go  on  to  Florence,  taking  Leghorn  on 
the  way.  We  shall  stay  a  month  in  Tuscany  and  a  month  at 
Naples,  so  as  to  reach  Rome  in  November.  Thence  we  re- 
turn home  by  Venice,  where  we  shall  spend  the  first  fortnight 
of  December,  and  arrive  in  Paris,  via  Milan  and  Turin,  for 
January. 

Our  journey  is  a  perfect  honeymoon  ;  the  sight  of  new 
places  gives  fresh  light  to  our  passion.  Macumer  did  not 
know  Italy  at  all,  and  we  have  begun  with  that  splendid  Cor- 
nice road,  which  might  be  the  work  of  fairy  architects. 

Adieu,  darling.  Don't  be  angry  if  I  don't  write.  It  is 
impossible  to  get  a  minute  to  one's  self  in  traveling  ;  my  whole 
time  is  taken  up  in  seeing,  admiring,  and  realizing  my  im- 
pressions. But  not  a  word  to  you  of  these  till  memory  has 
given  them  their  proper  atmosphere. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 


XXXVIII. 

THE     VICOMTESSE    DE    l'eSTORADE    TO    THE    BARONNE 
DE    MACUMER. 

September. 

My  dear  Louise: — There  is  lying  for  you  at  Chantepleurs 
a  full  reply  to  the  letter  you  wrote  me  from  Marseilles,  This 
honeymoon  journey,  so  far  from  diminishing  the  fears  I  there 
expressed,  makes  me  beg  of  you  to  get  my  letter  sent  on  from 
Nivernais. 

The  Government,  it  is  said,  is  resolved  on  dissolution. 
This  is  unlucky  for  the  Crown,  since  the  last  session  of  this 
loyal  Parliament  would  have  been  devoted  to  the  passing  of 
laws,  essential  to  the  consolidation  of  its  power ;  and  it  is  not 
less  so  for  us,  as  Louis  will  not  be  forty  till  the  end  of  1827. 
Fortunately,  however,  my  father  has  agreed  to  stand,  and  he 
will  resign  his  seat  when  the  right  moment  arrives. 

Your  godson  has  found  out  how  to  walk  without  his  god- 
mother's help.  He  is  altogether  delicious,  and  begins  to 
make  the  prettiest  little  signs  to  me,  which  bring  home  to 
one  that  here  is  really  a  thinking  being,  not  a  mere  animal 
or  sucking  machine.  His  smiles  are  full  of  meaning.  I  have 
been  so  successful  in  my  profession  of  nurse  that  I  shall  wean 
Armand  in  December.  A  year  at  the  breast  is  quite  enough ; 
children  who  are  suckled  longer  are  said  to  grow  stupid,  and 
I  am  all  for  old-women  sayings. 

You  must  be  making  a  tremendous  sensation  in  Italy,  my 
fair  one  with  the  srolden  locks.     A  thousand  loves. 


304  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 


XXXIX. 

THE   BARONNE   DE   MACUMER   TO   THE   VICOMTESSE 
DE   l'eSTORADE. 

Your  atrocious  letter  has  reached  me  here,  the  steward  hav- 
ing forwarded  it  by  my  orders.     Oh  !   Renee but  I  will 

spare  you  the  outburst  of  my  wounded  feelings,  and  simply 
tell  you  the  effect  your  letter  produced. 

We  had  just  returned  from  a  delightful  reception  given  in 
our  honor  by  the  ambassador,  where  I  appeared  in  all  my 
glory,  and  Macumer  was  completely  carried  away  in  a  frenzy 
of  love  which  I  could  not  describe.  Then  I  read  him  your 
horrible  answer  to  my  letter,  and  I  read  it  sobbing,  at  the  risk 
of  making  a  fright  of  myself.  My  dear  Saracen  fell  at  my 
feet,  declaring  that  you  raved.  Then  he  carried  me  off  to  the 
balcony  of  the  palace  where  we  are  staying,  from  which  we 
have  a  view  over  part  of  the  city ;  there  he  spoke  to  me  words 
worthy  of  the  magnificent  moonlight  scene  which  lay  stretched 
before  us.  We  both  speak  Italian  now,  and  his  love,  told  in 
that  voluptuous  tongue,  so  admirably  adapted  to  the  expres- 
sion of  passion,  sounded  in  my  ears  like  the  most  exquisite 
poetry.  He  swore  that,  even  were  you  right  in  your  predic- 
tions, he  would  not  exchange  for  a  lifetime  a  single  one  of 
our  blessed  nights  and  charming  mornings.  At  this  reckon- 
ing he  has  already  lived  a  thousand  years.  He  is  content  to 
have  me  for  his  mistress,  and  would  claim  no  other  title  than 
that  of  lover.  So  proud  and  pleased  is  he  to  see  himself 
every  day  the  chosen  of  my  heart,  that  were  heaven  to  offer 
him  the  alternative  between  living  as  you  would  have  us  do 
for  another  thirty  years  with  five  children,  and  five  years 
spent  amid  the  dear  roses  of  our  love,  he  would  not  hesitate. 
He  would  take  my  love,  such  as  it  is,  and  death. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  305 

While  he  was  whispering  this  in  my  ear,  his  arm  round  me, 
my  head  resting  on  his  shoulder,  the  cries  of  a  bat,  surprised 
by  an  owl,  disturbed  us.  This  death-cry  struck  me  with  such 
terror  that  Felipe  carried  me  half-fainting  to  my  bed.  But 
don't  be  alarmed  !  Though  this  augury  of  evil  still  resounds 
in  my  soul,  I  am  quite  myself  this  morning.  As  soon  as  I 
was  up,  I  went  to  Felipe,  and,  kneeling  before  him,  my  eyes 
fixed  on  his,  his  hands  clasped  in  mine,  I  said  to  him  : 

"  My  love,  I  am  a  child,  and  Rende  may  be  right  after  all. 
It  may  be  only  your  love  that  I  love  in  you ;  but  at  least  I 
can  assure  you  that  this  is  the  one  feeling  of  my  heart,  and 
that  I  love  you  as  it  is  given  me  to  love.  But  if  there  be 
aught  in  me,  in  my  lightest  thought  or  deed,  which  jars  on 
your  wishes  or  conception  of  me,  I  implore  you  to  tell  me, 
to  say  what  it  is.  It  will  be  a  joy  to  me  to  hear  you  and  to 
take  your  eyes  as  the  guiding-stars  of  my  life.  Rende  has 
frightened  me,  for  she  is  a  true  friend." 

Macumer  could  not  find  voice  to  reply,  tears  choked  him. 

I  can  thank  you  now,  Renee.  But  for  your  letter  I  should 
not  have  known  the  depths  of  love  in  my  noble,  kingly 
Macumer.  Rome  is  the  city  of  love ;  it  is  there  that  passion 
should  celebrate  its  feast,  with  art  and  religion  as  confederates. 

At  Venice  we  shall  find  the  Due  and  Duchesse  de  Soria. 
If  you  write,  address  now  to  Paris,  for  we  shall  leave  Rome  in 
three  days.     The  ambassador's  was  a  farewell  party. 

P.  S. — Dear,  silly  child,  your  letter  only  shows  that  you 
knew  nothing  of  love,  except  theoretically.  Learn  then  that 
love  is  a  quickening  force  which  may  produce  fruits  so  diverse 
that  no  theory  can  embrace  or  coordinate  them.  A  word 
this  for  my  little  professor  with  her  armor  of  corsets. 
20 


806  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 


XL. 

THE   COMTESSE   DE   l'eSTORADE   TO   THE    BARONNE 
DE    MACUMER. 

January,  1827. 

My  father  has  been  elected  to  the  Chamber,  my  fatlier-in- 
law  is  dead,  and  I  am  on  the  point  of  my  second  confine- 
ment ;  these  are  the  chief  events  marking  the  end  of  the  year 
for  us.  1  mention  them  at  once,  lest  the  sight  of  the  black 
seal  should  frighten  you. 

My  dear,  your  letter  from  Rome  made  my  flesh  creep. 
You  are  nothing  but  a  pair  of  children.  Felipe  is  either  a 
dissembling  diplomatist  or  else  his  love  for  you  is  the  love  a 
man  might  have  for  a  courtesan,  on  whom  he  squanders  his  all, 
knowing  all  the  time  that  she  is  false  to  him.  Enough  of 
this.  You  say  I  rave,  so  I  had  better  hold  my  tongue.  Only 
this  I  would  say,  from  the  comparison  of  our  two  very  differ- 
ent destinies  I  draw  this  harsh  moral — Love  not  if  you  would 
be  loved. 

My  dear,  when  Louis  was  elected  to  the  provincial  Council, 
he  received  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  That  is  now 
nearly  three  years  ago ;  and  as  ray  father — whom  you  will  no 
doubt  see  in  Paris  during  the  course  of  the  session — has  asked 
the  rank  of  officer  of  the  Legion  for  his  son-in-law,  I  want  to 
know  if  you  will  do  me  the  kindness  to  take  in  hand  the  big- 
wig, whoever  he  may  be,  to  whom  this  patronage  belongs,  and 
to  keep  an  eye  upon  the  little  affair.  But,  whatever  you  do, 
don't  get  entangled  in  the  concerns  of  my  honored  father.  The 
Comte  de  Maucombe  is  fishing  for  the  title  of  marquis  for  him- 
self; but  keep  your  good  services  for  me,  please.  When 
Louis  is  a  deputy — next  winter  that  is — we  shall  come  to  Paris, 
and  then  we  will  move  heaven  and  earth  to  get  some  Govern- 
ment appointment  for  him,  so  that  we  may  be  able  to  save 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  307 

our  income  by  living  on  his  salary.  My  father  sits  between 
the  Centre  and  the  Right;  a  title  will  content  him.  Our 
family  was  distinguished  even  in  the  days  of  King  Rene,  and 
Charles  X.  will  hardly  say  no  to  a  Maucombe ;  but  what  I 
fear  is  that  my  father  may  take  it  into  his  head  to  ask  some 
favor  for  my  younger  brother.  Now,  if  the  marquisate  is 
dangled  out  of  his  reach,  he  will  have  no  thoughts  to  spare  from 
himself. 

January  xt^tk. 

Ah  !  Louise,  I  have  been  in  hell.  If  I  can  bear  to  tell  you 
of  my  anguish,  it  is  because  you  are  another  self;  even  so,  I 
don't  know  whether  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  live  again  in 
thought  those  five  ghastly  days.  The  mere  word  "convul- 
sions" makes  my  very  heart  sick.  Five  days!  to  me  they 
were  five  centuries  of  torture.  A  mother  who  has  not  been 
through  this  martyrdom  does  not  know  what  suffering  is.  So 
frenzied  was  I  that  I  even  envied  you,  who  never  had  a  child  ! 

The  evening  before  that  terrible  day  the  weather  was  close, 
almost  hot,  and  I  thought  my  little  Armand  was  affected  by 
it.  Generally  so  sweet  and  caressing,  he  was  peevish,  cried 
for  nothing,  wanted  to  play,  and  then  broke  his  toys.  Perhaps 
this  sort  of  fractiousness  is  the  usual  sign  of  approaching  ill- 
ness with  children.  While  I  was  wondering  about  it,  I  noticed 
Armand's  cheeks  flush,  but  this  I  set  down  to  teething,  for  he 
is  cutting  four  large  teeth  at  once.  So  I  put  him  to  bed  be- 
side me,  and  kept  constantly  waking  through  the  night.  He 
was  a  little  feverish,  but  not  enough  to  make  me  uneasy,  my 
mind  being  still  full  of  the  teething.  Toward  morning  he 
cried  **  Mamma !  "  and  asked  by  signs  for  something  to  drink; 
but  the  cry  was  spasmodic,  and  there  were  convulsive  twitch- 
ings  in  the  limbs,  which  turned  me  to  ice.  I  jumped  out  of 
bed  to  fetch  him  a  drink.  Imagine  my  horror  when,  on  my 
handing  him  the  cup,  he  remained  motionless,  only  repeating 
**  Mamma!  "  in  that  strange,  unfamiliar  voice,  which  was  in- 


308  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

deed  by  this  time  hardly  a  voice  at  all.  I  took  his  hand,  but 
it  did  not  respond  to  my  pressure ;  it  was  quite  stiff.  I  put  the 
cup  to  his  lips ;  the  poor  little  fellow  gulped  down  three  or 
four  mouthfuls  in  a  convulsive  manner  that  was  terrible  to 
see,  and  the  water  made  a  strange  sound  in  his  throat.  He 
clung  to  me  desperately,  and  I  saw  his  eyes  roll,  as  though 
some  hidden  force  within  were  pulling  at  them,  till  only  the 
whites  were  visible ;  his  limbs  were  turning  rigid.  I  screamed 
aloud,  and  Louis  came. 

"A  doctor  !  quick  ! he  is  dying,"  I  cried. 

Louis  vanished,  and  my  poor  Armand  again  gasped, 
"Mamma!  Mamma!"  The  next  moment  he  lost  all  con- 
sciousness of  his  mother's  existence.  The  pretty  veins  on  his 
forehead  swelled,  and  the  convulsions  began.  For  a  whole 
hour  before  the  doctors  came,  I  held  in  my  arms  that  merry 
baby,  all  lilies  and  roses,  the  blossom  of  my  life,  my  pride, 
and  my  joy,  lifeless  as  a  piece  of  wood ;  and  his  eyes !  I 
cannot  think  of  them  without  horror.  My  pretty  Armand 
was  a  mere  mummy — black,  shriveled,  dumb,  misshappen. 

A  doctor,  two  doctors,  brought  from  Marseilles  by  Louis, 
hovered  about  like  birds  of  ill-omen  ;  it  made  me  shudder  to 
look  at  them.  One  spoke  of  brain  fever,  the  other  saw  noth- 
ing but  an  ordinary  case  of  convulsions  in  infancy.  Our  own 
country  doctor  seemed  to  me  to  have  the  most  sense,  for  he 
offered  no  opinion.  "It's  teething,"  said  the  second  doctor. 
— "Fever,"  said  the  first.  Finally,  it  was  agreed  to  put 
leeches  on  his  neck  and  ice  on  his  head.  It  seemed  to  me 
like  death.  To  look  on,  to  see  a  corpse,  all  purple  or  black, 
and  not  a  cry,  not  a  movement  from  this  creature  but  now  so 
full  of  life  and  sound — it  was  horrible  ! 

At  one  moment  I  lost  my  head,  and  gave  a  sort  of  hysterical 
laugh,  as  I  saw  the  pretty  neck  which  I  used  to  devour  with 
kisses,  with  the  leeches  feeding  on  it,  and  his  darling  head  in 
a  cap  of  ice.  My  dear,  we  had  to  cut  those  lovely  curls,  of 
which  we  were  so  proud  and  with  which  you  used  to  play,  in 


LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES.  309 

order  to  make  room  for  the  ice.  The  convulsions  returned 
every  ten  minutes  with  the  regularity  of  labor  pains,  and  then 
the  poor  baby  writhed  and  twisted,  now  white,  now  violet. 
His  supple  limbs  clattered  like  wood  as  they  struck.  And 
this  unconscious  flesh  was  the  being  who  smiled  and  prattled, 
and  used  to  say  Mamma !  At  the  thought,  a  storm  of  agony 
swept  tumultuously  over  my  soul,  like  the  sea  tossing  in  a  hur- 
ricane. It  seemed  as  though  every  tie  which  binds  a  child  to 
its  mother's  heart  were  strained  to  rending.  My  mother, 
who  might  have  given  me  help,  advice,  or  comfort,  was  in 
Paris. 

Mothers,  it  is  my  belief,  know  more  than  doctors  do  about 
convulsions. 

After  four  days  and  nights  of  suspense  and  fear,  which 
almost  killed  me,  the  doctors  were  unanimous  in  advising  the 
application  of  a  horrid  ointment,  which  would  produce  open 
sores.  Sores  on  my  Armand  !  who  only  five  days  before  was 
playing  about,  and  laughing,  and  trying  to  say  "Godmother!  " 
I  would  not  have  it  done,  preferring  to  trust  to  nature.  Louis, 
who  believes  in  doctors,  scolded  me.  A  man  is  always  a  man. 
But  there  are  moments  when  this  terrible  disease  takes  the 
likeness  of  death,  and  in  one  of  these  it  seemed  borne  in  upon 
me  that  this  hateful  remedy  was  the  salvation  of  Armand. 
Louise,  the  skin  was  so  dry,  so  rough  and  parched,  that  the 
ointment  would  not  act.  Then  I  broke  into  weeping,  and  my 
tears  fell  so  long  and  so  fast  that  the  bedside  was  wet  through. 
And  the  doctors  were  at  dinner  ! 

Seeing  myself  alone  with  the  child,  I  stripped  him  of  all 
medical  appliances,  and  seizing  him  like  a  mad  woman,  pressed 
him  to  my  bosom,  laying  my  forehead  against  his,  and  be- 
seeching God  to  grant  him  the  life  which  I  was  striving  to 
pass  into  his  veins  from  mine.  For  some  minutes  I  held  him 
thus,  longing  to  die  with  him,  so  that  neither  life  nor  death 
might  part  us.  Dear,  I  felt  the  limbs  relaxing ;  the  writhings 
ceased,  the  child  stirred,  and   the  ghastly,  corpse-like  tints 


310  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

faded  away  !     I  screamed,  just  as  I  did  when  he  was  taken  ill ; 
the  doctors  hurried  up,  and  I  pointed  to  Armand. 

"  He  is  saved  !  "  exclaimed  the  oldest  of  them. 

What  music  in  those  words  !  The  gates  of  heaven  opened  ! 
And,  in  fact,  two  hours  later,  Armand  came  back  to  life ;  but 
I  was  utterly  crushed,  and  it  was  only  the  healing  power  of 
joy  which  saved  me  from  a  serious  illness.  Oh,  my  God  !  by 
what  tortures  do  you  bind  a  mother  to  her  child  !  To  fasten 
him  to  our  heart,  need  the  nails  be  driven  into  the  very  quick  ? 
Was  I  not  mother  enough  before  ?  I,  who  wept  tears  of  joy 
over  his  broken  syllables  and  tottering  steps,  who  spent  hours 
together  planning  how  best  to  perform  my  duty,  and  fit  myself 
for  the  sweet  post  of  mother?  Why  these  horrors,  these 
ghastly  and  awful  scenes,  for  a  mother  who  already  idolized 
her  child  ? 

As  I  write,  our  little  Armand  is  playing,  shouting,  laughing. 
What  can  be  the  cause  of  this  terrible  disease  with  children  ? 
Vainly  do  I  try  to  puzzle  it  out,  remembering  always  that  I 
am  again  with  child.  Is  it  teething?  Is  it  some  peculiar 
process  in  the  brain?  Is  there  something  wrong  with  the 
nervous  system  of  children  who  are  subject  to  convulsions  ? 
All  these  thoughts  disquiet  me,  in  view  alike  of  the  present 
and  the  future.  Our  country  doctor  holds  to  the  theory  of 
nervous  trouble  produced  by  teething.  I  would  give  every 
tooth  in  my  head  to  see  little  Armand's  all  through.  The 
sight  of  one  of  those  little  white  pearls  peeping  out  of  the 
swollen  gum  brings  a  cold  sweat  over  me  now.  The  heroism 
with  which  the  little  angel  bore  his  sufferings  proves  to  me 
that  he  will  be  his  mother's  son.  A  look  from  him  cleaves 
my  very  heart. 

Medical  science  can  give  no  satisfactory  explanation  as  to 
the  origin  of  this  sort  of  tetanus,  which  passes  off  as  rapidly 
as  it  comes  on,  and  can  apparently  be  neither  guarded  against 
nor  cured.  One  thing  alone,  as  I  said  before,  is  certain,  that 
it  is  hell  for  a  mother  to  see  her  child  in  convulsions.     How 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  311 

passionately  do  I  clasp  him  to  my  heart !     I  could  walk  for 
ever  with  him  in  my  arms  ! 

To  have  suffered  all  this  only  six  weeks  before  my  confine- 
ment made  it  much  worse ;  I  feared  for  the  coming  child. 
Farewell,  my  dear  beloved.  Don't  wish  for  a  child — there  is 
the  sum  and  substance  of  my  letter  ! 


XLI. 

the  baronne  de  macumer  to  the  vicomtesse  de 
l'estorade. 

Paris. 

Poor  Sweet  : — Macumer  and  I  forgave  you  all  your  naughti- 
ness when  we  heard  of  your  terrible  trouble.  I  thrilled  with 
pain  as  I  read  the  details  of  that  double  agony,  and  there  seem 
compensations  now  in  being  childless. 

I  am  writing  at  once  to  tell  you  that  Louis  has  been  pro- 
moted. He  can  now  wear  the  ribbon  of  an  officer  of  the 
Legion.  You  are  a  lucky  woman,  Renee,  and  you  will  prob- 
ably have  a  little  girl,  since  that  used  to  be  your  wish  ! 

The  marriage  of  my  brother  with  Mile,  de  Mortsauf  was 
celebrated  on  our  return.  Our  gracious  King,  who  really  is 
extraordinarily  kind,  has  given  my  brother  the  reversion  of 
the  post  of  first  gentleman  of  the  chamber,  which  his  father- 
in-law  now  fills,  on  the  one  condition  that  the  escutcheon  of 
the  Mortsaufs  should  be  placed  side  by  side  with  that  of  the 
Lenoncourts. 

"  The  office  ought  to  go  with  the  title,"  he  said  to  the  Due 
de  Lenoncourt-Givry. 

My  father  is  justified  a  hundredfold.  Without  the  help  of 
my  fortune  nothing  of  all  this  could  have  taken  place.  My 
father  and  mother  came  from  Madrid  for  the  wedding,  and 
return  there,  after  the  reception  which  I  give  to-morrow  for 
the  bride  and  bridegroom. 


312  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

The  carnival  will  be  a  very  gay  one.  The  Due  and  Duch- 
esse  de  Soria  are  in  Paris,  and  their  presence  makes  me  a  little 
uneasy.  Marie  Heredia  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
women  in  Europe,  and  I  don't  like  the  way  Felipe  looks  at 
her.  Therefore  I  am  doubly  lavish  of  sweetness  and  caresses. 
Every  look  and  gesture  speak  the  words  which  I  am  careful 
my  lips  should  not  utter:  "6!^^  could  not  love  like  this!" 
Heaven  knows  how  lovely  and  fascinating  I  am  !  Yesterday 
Mme.  de  Maufrigneuse  said  to  me : 

** Dear  child,  who  can  compete  with  you? " 

Then  I  keep  Felipe  so  well  amused,  that  his  sister-in-law 
must  seem  as  lively  as  a  Spanish  cow  in  comparison.  I  am 
the  less  sorry  that  a  little  Abencerrage  is  not  on  his  way,  be- 
cause the  duchess  will  no  doubt  stay  in  Paris  over  her  confine- 
ment, and  she  won't  be  a  beauty  any  longer.  If  the  baby  is 
a  boy,  it  will  be  called  Felipe,  in  honor  of  the  exile.  An 
unkind  chance  has  decreed  that  I  shall,  a  second  time,  serve 
as  godmother. 

Good-by,  dear.  I  shall  go  to  Chantepleurs  early  this  year, 
for  our  Italian  tour  was  shockingly  expensive.  I  shall  leave 
about  the  end  of  March,  and  retire  to  economize  in  Nivernais. 
Beside,  I  am  tired  of  Paris.  Felipe  sighs,  as  I  do,  after  the 
beautiful  quiet  of  the  park,  our  cool  meadows,  and  our  Loire, 
with  its  sparkling  sands,  peerless  among  rivers.  Chantepleurs 
will  seem  delightful  to  me  after  the  pomps  and  vanities  of 
Italy ;  for,  after  all,  splendor  becomes  wearisome,  and  a  lover's 
glance  has  more  beauty  than  a  capo  d^ opera  or  a  bd  quadro  ! 

We  shall  expect  you  there.  Don't  be  afraid  that  I  shall  be 
jealous  again.  You  are  free  to  take  what  soundings  you 
please  in  Macumer's  heart,  and  fish  up  all  the  interjections 
and  doubts  you  can.  I  am  supremely  indifferent.  Since  that 
day  at  Rome  Felipe's  love  for  me  has  grown.  He  told  me 
yesterday  (he  is  looking  over  my  shoulder  now)  that  his  sister- 
in-law,  the  Princess  Heredia,  his  destined  bride  of  old,  the 
dream  of  his  youth,  had  no  brains.    Oh  !  my  dear,  I  am  worse 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  813 

than  a  ballet-dancer !  If  you  knew  what  joy  that  slighting 
remark  gave  me  !  I  have  pointed  out  to  Felipe  that  she  does 
not  speak  French  correctly.  She  says  esemple  for  exemple,  sain 
for  cinq,  cheu  for  je.  She  is  beautiful  of  course,  but  quite 
without  charm  or  the  slightest  scintilla  of  wit.  When  a  com- 
pliment is  paid  her,  she  looks  at  you  as  though  she  didn't 
know  what  to  do  with  such  a  strange  thing.  Felipe,  being 
what  he  is,  could  not  have  lived  two  months  with  Marie  after 
his  marriage.  Don  Fernand,  the  Due  de  Soria,  suits  her  very 
well.  He  has  generous  instincts,  but  it's  easy  to  see  he  has 
been  a  spoilt  child.  I  am  tempted  to  be  naughty  and  make 
you  laugh;  but  I  won't  draw  the  long  bow.  Ever  so  much 
love,  darling. 

CHAPTER    XUI. 

RENfeE  TO  LOUISE. 

My  little  girl  is  two  months  old.  She  is  called  Jeanne- 
Athenais,  and  has  for  godmother  and  godfather  my  mother 
and  an  old  grand-uncle  of  Louis'. 

As  soon  as  I  possibly  can,  I  shall  start  for  my  visit  to  Chan- 
tepleurs,  since  you  are  not  afraid  of  a  nursing  mother.  Your 
godson  can  say  your  name  now ;  he  calls  it  Matoumer,  for  he 
can't  pronounce  c  properly.  You  will  be  quite  delighted 
with  him.  He  has  got  all  his  teeth,  and  eats  meat  now  like 
a  big  boy ;  he  is  all  over  the  place,  trotting  about  like  a  little 
mouse ;  but  I  watch  him  all  the  time  with  anxious  eyes,  and 
it  makes  me  miserable  that  I  cannot  keep  him  by  me  when  I 
am  confined.  The  time  is  more  than  usually  long  with  me, 
as  the  doctors  consider  some  special  precautions  necessary. 
Alas !  my  child,  habit  does  not  inure  one  to  childbearing. 
There  are  the  same  old  discomforts  and  misgivings.  However 
(don't  show  this  to  Felipe),  this  little  girl  takes  after  me,  and 
she  may  yet  cut  out  your  Armand. 

My  father  thought  Felipe  looking  very  thin,  and  my  dear 


314  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

pet  also  not  quite  so  blooming.  Yet  the  Due  and  Duchesse 
de  Soria  have  gone ;  not  a  loophole  for  jealousy  is  left !  Is 
there  any  trouble  which  you  are  hiding  from  me  ?  Your 
letter  is  neither  so  long  nor  so  full  of  loving  thoughts  as  usual. 
Is  this  only  a  whim  of  my  dear  whimsical  friend  ? 

I  am  running  on  too  long.  My  nurse  is  angry  with  me  for 
writing,  and  Mile.  Athdnais  de  I'Estorade  wants  her  dinner. 
Farewell,  then ;  write  me  some  nice  long  letters. 


XLIII. 

MME.   DE  MACUMER  TO   THE   COMTESSE   DE   l'ESTORADE. 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life,  my  dear  Ren6e,  I  have  been 
alone  and  crying.  I  was  sitting  under  a  willow,  on  a  wooden 
bench  by  the  side  of  the  long  Chantepleurs  marsh.  The  view 
there  is  charming,  but  it  needs  some  merry  children  to  com- 
plete it,  and  I  wait  for  you  and  yours.  I  have  been  married 
nearly  three  years,  and  no  child !  The  thought  of  your 
quiverful  drove  me  to  explore  my  heart. 

And  this  is  what  I  find  there  :  "  Oh  !  if  I  had  to  suffer  a 
hundredfold  what  Renee  suffered  when  my  godson  was  born ; 
if  I  had  to  see  my  child  in  convulsions,  even  so  would  to 
God  that  I  might  have  a  cherub  of  my  own,  like  your  Ath6- 
nais !  "  I  can  see  her  from  here  in  my  mind's  eye,  and  I 
know  she  is  beautiful  as  the  day,  for  you  tell  me  nothing 
about  her — that  is  just  like  my  Ren6e  !  I  believe  you  divine 
my  trouble. 

Each  time  my  hopes  are  disappointed,  I  fall  a  prey  for  some 
days  to  the  blackest  melancholy.  Then  I  compose  sad  elegies. 
When  shall  I  embroider  little  caps  and  sew  lace  edgings  to 
encircle  a  tiny  head?  When  choose  the  cambric  for  the 
baby-clothes?  Shall  I  never  hear  baby  lips  shout  "  Mamma," 
and  have  my  dress  pulled  by  a  teasing  despot  whom  my  heart 
adores?    Are  there  to  be  no  wheel-marks  of  a  little  carriage 


LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES.  315 

on  the  gravel,  no  broken  toys  littered  about  the  courtyard? 
Shall  I  never  visit  the  toy-stores,  as  mothers  do,  to  buy  swords, 
and  dolls,  and  little  tea-sets?  And  will  it  never  be  mine  to 
watch  the  unfolding  of  a  precious  life — another  Felipe,  only 
more  dear?  I  would  have  a  son,  if  only  to  learn  how  a  lover 
can  be  more  to  one  in  his  second  self. 

My  park:  and  castle  are  cold  and  desolate  to  me.  A  child- 
less woman  is  a  monstrosity  of  nature  ;  we  exist  only  to  be 
mothers.  Oh  !  my  sage  in  woman's  livery,  how  well  you 
have  conned  the  book  of  life !  Everywhere,  too,  barrenness 
is  a  dismal  thing.  My  life  is  a  little  too  much  like  one  of 
Gessner's  or  Florian's  sheepfolds,  which  Rivarol  longed  to  see 
invaded  by  a  wolf.  I,  too,  have  it  in  me  to  make  sacrifices ! 
There  are  forces  in  me,  I  feel,  which  Felipe  has  no  use  for ; 
and  if  I  am  not  to  be  a  mother,  I  must  be  allowed  to  indulge 
myself  in  some  romantic  sorrow. 

I  have  just  made  this  remark  to  my  belated  Moor,  and  it 
brought  tears  to  his  eyes.  He  cannot  stand  any  joking  on 
his  love,  so  I  let  him  off  easily,  and  only  called  him  a  paladin 
of  folly. 

At  times  I  am  seized  with  a  desire  to  go  on  pilgrimage,  to 
bear  my  longings  to  the  shrine  of  some  madonna  or  to  a 
watering-place.  Next  winter  I  shall  take  medical  advice.  I 
am  too  much  enraged  with  myself  to  write  more.     Good-by. 


XLIV. 

THE   SAME   TO   THE  SAME. 

Paris,  1829. 
A  whole  year  passed,  my  dear,  without  a  letter !  What 
does  this  mean  ?  I  am  a  little  hurt.  Do  you  suppose  that 
your  Louis,  who  comes  to  see  me  almost  every  alternate  day, 
makes  up  for  you  ?  It  is  not  enough  to  know  that  you  are 
well  and  that  everything  prospers  with  you ;  for  I  love  you, 


316  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

Renee,  and  I  want  to  know  what  you  are  thinking  of,  just  as 
I  say  everything  to  you,  at  the  risk  of  being  scolded,  or  cen- 
sured, or  misunderstood.  Your  silence  and  seclusion  in  the 
country,  at  a  time  when  you  might  be  in  Paris  enjoying  all 
the  Parliamentary  honors  of  the  Comte  de  I'Estorade,  cause 
me  serious  anxiety.  You  know  that  your  husband's  "gift  of 
the  gab"  and  unsparing  zeal  have  won  for  him  quite  a  posi- 
tion here,  and  he  will  doubtless  receive  some  very  good  post 
when  the  session  is  over.  Pray,  do  you  spend  your  life 
writing  him  letters  of  advice  ?  Numa  was  not  so  far  removed 
from  his  Egeria. 

Why  did  you  not  take  this  opportunity  of  seeing  Paris  ?  I 
might  have  enjoyed  your  company  for  four  months.  Louis 
told  me  yesterday  that  you  were  coming  to  fetch  him,  and 
would  have  your  third  confinement  in  Paris — you  terrible 
mother  Gigogne  !  After  bombarding  Louis  with  queries,  ex- 
clamations, and  regrets,  I  at  last  defeated  his  strategy  so  far 
as  to  discover  that  his  grand-uncle,  the  godfather  of  Athenais, 
is  very  ill.  Now  I  believe  that  you,  like  a  careful  mother, 
would  be  quite  equal  to  angling  with  the  member's  speeches 
and  fame  for  a  fat  legacy  from  your  husband's  last  remaining 
relative  on  the  mother's  side.  Keep  your  mind  easy,  my 
Renee — we  are  all  at  work  for  Louis  :  Lenoncourts,  Chaulieus, 
and  the  whole  band  of  Mnie.  de  Macumer's  followers.  Mar- 
tignac  will  probably  put  him  into  the  Audit  Department.  But 
if  you  won't  tell  me  why  you  bury  yourself  in  the  country,  I 
shall  be  cross. 

Tell  me,  are  you  afraid  that  the  political  wisdom  of  the 
house  of  I'Estorade  should  seem  to  centre  in  you?  Or  is  it 
the  uncle's  legacy  ?  Perhaps  you  were  afraid  you  would  be 
less  to  your  children  in  Paris  ?  Ah  !  what  would  I  give  to 
know  whether,  after  all,  you  were  not  simply  too  vain  to  show 
yourself  in  Paris  for  the  first  time  in  your  present  condition  I 
Vain  thing !     Farewell. 


LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES.  317 

XLV. 

RENEE   TO  LOUISE. 

You  complain  of  my  silence ;  have  you  forgotten,  then, 
those  two  little  brown  heads,  at  once  my  subjects  and  my 
tyrants  ?  And  as  to  staying  at  home,  you  have  yourself  hit 
upon  several  of  my  reasons.  Apart  from  the  condition  of  our 
dear  uncle,  I  didn't  want  to  drag  with  me  to  Paris  a  boy  of 
four  and  a  little  girl  who  will  soon  be  three,  when  I  am  again 
expecting  my  confinement.  I  had  no  intention  of  troubling 
you  and  upsetting  your  household  with  such  a  party.  I  did 
not  care  to  appear,  looking  my  worst,  in  the  brilliant  circle 
over  which  you  preside,  and  I  detest  life  in  hotels  and  lodg- 
ings. 

When  I  come  to  spend  the  session  in  Paris,  it  will  be  in  my 
own  house.  Louis'  uncle,  when  he  heard  of  the  rank  his 
grand-nephew  had  received,  made  me  a  present  of  two  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  (the  half  of  his  savings)  with  which  to 
buy  a  house  in  Paris,  and  I  have  charged  Louis  to  find  one  in 
your  neighborhood.  My  mother  has  given  me  thirty  thou- 
sand francs  for  the  furnishing,  and  I  shall  do  my  best  not  to 
disgrace  the  dear  sister  of  my  election — no  pun  intended. 

I  am  grateful  to  you  for  having  already  done  so  much  at 
Court  for  Louis.  But  though  M.  de  Bourmont  and  M.  de 
Polignac  have  paid  him  the  compliment  of  asking  him  to  join 
their  ministry,  I  do  not  wish  so  conspicuous  a  place  for  him. 
It  would  commit  him  too  much  ;  and  I  prefer  the  Audit  Office 
because  it  is  permanent.  Our  affairs  here  are  in  very  good 
hands  ;  so  you  need  not  fear  ;  as  soon  as  the  steward  has  mas- 
tered the  details,  I  will  come  and  support  Louis. 

As  for  writing  long  letters  nowadays,  how  can  I  ?  This 
one,  in  which  I  want  to  describe  to  you  the  daily  routine  of 
my  life,  will  be  a  week  on  the  stocks.     Who  can  tell  but 


318  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

Armand  may  lay  hold  of  it  to  make  caps  for  his  regiments 
drawn  up  on  my  carpet,  or  vessels  for  the  fleets  which  sail  his 
bath  !  A  single  day  will  serve  as  a  sample  of  the  rest,  for 
they  are  all  exactly  alike,  and  their  characteristics  reduce 
themselves  to  two — either  the  children  are  well  or  they  are 
not.  For  me,  in  this  solitary  grange,  it  is  no  exaggeration  to 
say  that  hours  become  minutes  or  minutes  hours,  according 
to  the  children's  health. 

If  I  have  some  delightful  hours,  it  is  when  they  are  asleep 
and  I  am  no  longer  needed  to  rock  the  one  or  soothe  the 
other  with  stories.  When  I  have  them  sleeping  by  my  side,  I 
say  to  myself,  "Nothing  can  go  wrong  now."  The  fact  is, 
my  sweet,  every  mother  spends  her  time,  so  soon  as  her 
children  are  out  of  her  sight,  in  imagining  dangers  for  them. 
Perhaps  it  is  Armand  seizing  the  razors  to  play  with,  or  his 
coat  taking  fire,  or  a  snake  biting  him,  or  he  might  tumble  in 
running  and  start  an  abscess  on  his  head,  or  he  might  drown 
himself  in  a  pond.  A  mother's  life,  you  see,  is  one  long  suc- 
cession of  dramas,  now  soft  and  tender,  now  terrible.  Not  an 
hour  but  has  its  joys  and  fears. 

But  at  night,  in  my  room,  comes  the  hour  for  waking 
dreams,  when  I  plan  out  their  future,  which  shines  brightly 
in  the  smile  of  the  guardian  angel,  watching  over  their  beds. 
Sometimes  Armand  calls  me  in  his  sleep ;  I  kiss  his  forehead 
(without  rousing  him),  then  his  sister's  feet,  and  watch  them 
both  lying  in  their  beauty.  These  are  ray  merry-makings ! 
Yesterday,  it  must  have  been  our  guardian  angel  who  roused 
me  in  the  middle  of  the  night  and  summoned  me  in  fear  to 
Nais'  crib.  Her  head  was  too  low,  and  I  found  Armand  all 
uncovered,  his  feet  purple  with  cold. 

"Darling  mother!  "  he  cried,  rousing  up  and  flinging  his 
arms  round  me. 

There,  dear,  is  one  of  our  night  scenes  for  you. 

How  important  it  is  for  a  mother  to  have  her  children  by 
her  side  at  night !     It  is  not  for  a  nurse,  however  careful  she 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  319 

may  be,  to  take  them  up,  comfort  them,  and  hush  them  to 
sleep  again,  when  some  horrid  nightmare  has  disturbed  them. 
For  they  have  their  dreams,  and  the  task  of  explaining  away 
one  of  these  dread  visions  of  the  night  is  the  more  arduous 
because  the  child  is  scared,  stupid,  and  only  half  awake.  It 
is  a  mere  interlude  in  the  unconsciousness  of  slumber.  In 
this  way  I  have  come  to  sleep  so  lightly,  that  I  can  see  my 
little  pair  and  hear  them  stirring,  through  the  veil  of  my  eye- 
lids. A  sigh  or  a  rustle  awakens  me.  For  me,  the  demon  of 
convulsions  is  ever  crouching  by  their  beds. 

So  much  for  the  nights;  with  the  first  twitter  of  the  birds 
my  babies  begin  to  stir.  Through  the  mists  of  dispersing 
sleep,  their  chatter  blends  with  the  warblings  that  fill  the 
morning  air,  or  with  the  swallows'  noisy  debates — little  cries 
of  joy  or  woe,  which  make  their  way  to  my  heart  rather  than 
my  ears.  While  NaTs  struggles  to  get  at  me,  making  the  pas- 
sage from  her  crib  to  my  bed  on  all  fours  or  with  staggering 
steps,  Armand  climbs  up  with  the  agility  of  a  monkey,  and 
has  his  arms  round  me.  Then  the  merry  couple  turn  my  bed 
into  a  playground,  where  mother  lies  at  their  mercy.  The 
baby-girl  pulls  my  hair,  and  would  take  to  sucking  again, 
while  Armand  stands  guard  over  my  breast,  as  though  defend- 
ing his  property.  Their  funny  ways,  their  peals  of  laughter, 
are  too  much  for  me,  and  put  sleep  fairly  to  flight. 

Then  we  play  the  ogress  game ;  mother  ogress  eats  up  the 
white,  soft  flesh  with  hugs,  and  rains  kisses  on  those  rosy 
shoulders  and  eyes  brimming  over  with  saucy  mischief;  we 
have  little  jealous  tiffs  too,  so  pretty  to  see.  It  has  happened 
to  me,  dear,  to  take  up  my  stockings  to  put  on  at  eight  o'clock 
and  be  still  barefooted  at  nine  ! 

Then  comes  the  getting  up.  The  operation  of  dressing 
begins.  I  slip  on  my  dressing-gown,  turn  up  my  sleeves,  and 
don  the  macintosh  apron ;  with  Mary's  assistance,  I  wash  and 
scrub  my  two  little  blossoms.  I  am  sole  arbiter  of  the  temper- 
ature of  the  bath,  for  a  good  half  of  children's  crying  and 


320  LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES. 

whimpering  comes  from  mistakes  here.  The  moment  has 
arrived  for  paper  fleets  and  glass  ducks,  since  the  only  way  to 
get  children  thoroughly  washed  is  to  keep  them  well  amused. 
If  you  knew  the  diversions  that  have  to  be  invented  before 
these  despotic  sovereigns  will  permit  a  soft  sponge  to  be 
passed  over  every  nook  and  cranny,  you  would  be  awestruck 
at  the  amount  of  ingenuity  and  intelligence  demanded  by  the 
maternal  profession  when  one  takes  it  seriously.  Prayers, 
scoldings,  promises,  are  alike  in  requisition ;  above  all,  the 
jugglery  must  be  so  dexterous  that  it  defies  detection.  The 
case  would  be  desperate  had  not  Providence  to  the  cunning  of 
the  child  matched  that  of  the  mother.  A  child  is  a  diplo- 
matist only  to  be  master,  like  the  diplomatists  of  the  great 
world,  through  his  passions !  Happily,  it  takes  little  to 
make  these  cherubs  laugh ;  the  fall  of  a  brush,  a  piece  of 
soap  slipping  from  the  hand,  and  what  merry  shouts  !  And 
if  our  triumphs  are  dearly  bought,  still  triumphs  they  are, 
though  hidden  from  mortal  eye.  Even  the  father  knows 
nothing  of  it  all.  None  but  God  and  His  angels — and  per- 
haps you — can  fathom  the  glances  of  satisfaction  which  Mary 
and  I  exchange  when  the  little  creatures'  toilet  is  at  last  con- 
cluded, and  they  stand,  spotless  and  shining,  amid  a  chaos  of 
soap,  sponges,  combs,  basins,  blotting-paper,  flannel,  and  all 
the  nameless  litter  of  a  true  English  "nursery." 

For  I  am  so  far  a  convert  as  to  admit  that  Englishwomen 
have  £?  talent  for  this  department.  True,  they  look  upon  the 
child  only  from  the  point  of  view  of  material  well-being  ;  but 
where  this  is  concerned,  their  arrangements  are  admirable. 
My  children  shall  always  be  barelegged  and  wear  woolen 
socks.  There  shall  be  no  swaddling  or  bandages;  on  the 
other  hand,  they  shall  never  be  left  alone.  The  helplessness 
of  the  French  infant  in  its  swaddling-bands  means  the  liberty 
of  the  nurse — that  is  the  whole  explanation.  A  mother,  who 
is  really  a  mother,  is  never  free. 

There  is  my  answer  to  your  question  why  I  do  not  write. 


LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES.  321 

Beside  the  management  of  the  estate,  I  have  the  upbringing 
of  two  children  on  my  hands. 

The  art  of  motherhood  involves  much  silent,  unobtrusive 
self-denial,  an  hourly  devotion  which  finds  no  detail  too 
minute.  The  soup  warming  over  the  fire  must  be  watched. 
Am  I  the  kind  of  woman,  do  you  suppose,  to  shirk  such  cares? 
The  humblest  task  may  earn  a  rich  harvest  of  affection.  How 
pretty  is  the  child's  laugh  when  he  finds  the  food  to  his 
liking!  Armand  has  a  way  of  nodding  his  head  when  he  is 
pleased  that  is  worth  a  lifetime  of  adoration.  How  could  I 
leave  to  any  one  else  the  privilege  and  delight,  as  well  as  the 
responsibility,  of  blowing  on  the  spoonful  of  soup  which  is  too 
hot  for  my  little  Nais,  my  nursling  of  seven  months  ago,  who 
still  remembers  my  breast  ?  When  a  nurse  has  allowed  a  child 
to  burn  its  tongue  and  lips  with  scalding  food,  she  tells  the 
mother,  who  hurries  up  to  see  what  is  wrong,  that  the  child 
cried  from  hunger.  How  could  a  mother  sleep  in  peace  with 
the  thought  that  a  breath,  less  pure  than  her  own,  has  cooled 
her  child's  food — the  mother  whom  Nature  has  made  the 
direct  vehicle  of  food  to  infant  lips.  To  mince  a  chop  for 
NaTs,  who  has  just  cut  her  last  tooth,  and  mix  the  meat,  cooked 
to  a  turn,  with  potatoes,  is  a  work  of  patience,  and  there  are 
times,  indeed,  when  none  but  a  mother  could,  by  any  possi- 
bility, succeed  in  making  an  impatient  child  go  through  with 
its  meal. 

No  number  of  servants,  then,  and  no  English  nurse  can 
dispense  a  mother  from  taking  the  field  in  person  in  that  daily 
contest,  where  gentleness  alone  should  grapple  with  the  little 
griefs  and  pains  of  childhood.  Louise,  the  care  of  these  inno- 
cent darlings  is  a  work  to  engage  the  whole  soul.  To  whose 
hands  and  eyes,  but  one's  own,  intrust  the  task  of  feeding, 
dressing,  and  putting  to  bed?  Broadly  speaking,  a  crying 
child  is  the  unanswerable  condemnation  of  mother  o!*  nurse, 
except  when  the  cry  is  the  outcome  of  natural  pain.  Now 
that  I  have  two  to  look  after  (and  a  third  on  the  road),  they 
21 


332  LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES. 

occupy  all  my  thoughts.  Even  you,  whom  I  love  so  dearly, 
have  become  a  memory  to  me. 

My  own  dressing  is  not  always  completed  by  two  o'clock. 
I  have  no  faith  in  mothers  whose  rooms  are  in  apple-pie  order, 
and  who  themselves  might  have  stepped  out  of  a  bandbox. 
Yesterday  was  one  of  those  lovely  days  of  early  April,  and  I 
wanted  to  take  my  children  a  walk,  while  I  was  still  able — 
for  the  warning  bell  is  in  my  ears.  Such  an  expedition  is 
quite  an  epic  to  a  mother !  One  dreams  of  it  the  night 
before  !  Armand  was  for  the  first  time  to  put  on  a  little  black 
velvet  jacket,  a  new  collar  which  I  had  worked,  a  Scotch  cap 
with  the  Stuart  colors  and  cock's  feathers ;  Nais  was  to  be  in 
white  and  pink,  with  one  of  those  delicious  little  baby  caps ; 
for  she  is  a  baby  still,  though  she  will  lose  that  pretty  title  on 
the  arrival  of  the  youngster  (whom  I  feel  kicking  me)  and 
whom  I  call  my  little  paup.er,  for  he  will  have  the  portion  of 
a  younger  son.  (You  see,  Louise,  the  child  has  already 
appeared  to  me  in  a  vision,  so  I  know  it  is  a  boy.) 

Well,  caps,  collars,  jackets,  socks,  dainty  little  shoes,  pink 
garters,  the  muslin  frock  with  silk  embroidery — all  was  laid 
out  on  my  bed.  Then  the  little  brown  heads  had  to  be 
brushed,  twittering  merrily  all  the  time  like  birds  answering 
each  other's  call.  Armand's  hair  is  in  curls,  while  Nais'  is 
brought  forward  softly  on  the  forehead  as  a  border  to  the 
pink-and-white  cap.  Then  the  shoes  are  buckled  ;  and  when 
the  little  bare  legs  and  well-shod  feet  have  trotted  off  to  the 
nursery,  while  two  shining  faces  {clean,  Mary  calls  them)  and 
eyes  ablaze  with  life  petition  me  to  start,  my  heart  beats  fast. 
To  look  on  the  children  whom  one's  own  hand  has  arrayed, 
the  pure  skin  brightly  veined  with  blue,  that  one  has  bathed, 
laved,  and  sponged  and  decked  with  gay  colors  of  silk  or 
velvet — why,  there  is  no  poem  comes  near  to  it !  With  what 
eager,  covetous  longing  one  calls  them  back  for  one  more  kiss 
on  those  white  necks,  which,  in  their  simple  collars,  the  love- 
liest woman  cannot  rival.     Even  the  coarest  lithograph  of 


LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES.  323 

such  a  scene  makes  a  mother  pause,  and  I  feast  my  eyes  daily 
on  the  living  picture  ! 

Once  out  of  doors,  triumphant  in  the  result  of  my  labors, 
while  I  was  admiring  the  princely  air  with  which  little 
Armand  helped  baby  to  totter  along  the  path  you  know,  I  saw 
a  carriage  coming,  and  tried  to  get  them  out  of  the  way. 
The  children  tumbled  into  a  dirty  puddle,  and  lo  !  my  works 
of  art  are  ruined  !  We  had  to  take  them  back  and  change 
their  things.  I  took  the  little  one  in  my  arms,  never  thinking 
of  my  own  dress,  which  was  ruined,  while  Mary  seized 
Armand,  and  the  cavalcade  reentered.  With  a  crying  baby 
and  a  soaked  child,  what  mind  has  a  mother  left  for  herself? 

Dinner-time  arrives,  and  as  a  rule  I  have  done  nothing. 
Now  comes  the  problem  which  faces  me  twice  every  day — 
how  to  suffice  in  my  own  person  for  two  children,  put  on 
their  bibs,  turn  up  their  sleeves,  and  get  them  to  eat.  In  the 
midst  of  these  ever-recurring  cares,  joys,  and  catastrophes,  the 
only  person  neglected  in  the  house  is  myself.  If  the  children 
have  been  naughty,  often  I  don't  get  rid  of  my  curl-papers  all 
day.  Their  tempers  rule  my  toilet.  As  the  price  of  the  few 
minutes  in  which  I  write  you  these  half-dozen  pages,  I  have 
had  to  let  them  cut  pictures  out  of  my  novels,  build  castles 
with  books,  chessmen,  or  mother-of-pearl  counters,  and  give 
Na'is  my  silks  and  wools  to  arrange  in  her  own  fashion,  which, 
I  assure  you,  is  so  complicated  that  she  is  entirely  absorbed 
in  it,  and  has  not  uttered  a  word. 

Yet  I  have  nothing  to  complain  of.  My  children  are  both 
strong  and  independent ;  they  amuse  themselves  more  easily 
than  you  would  think.  They  find  delight  in  everything  ;  a 
guarded  liberty  is  worth  many  toys.  A  few  pebbles — pink, 
yellow,  purple,  and  black,  small  shells,  the  mysteries  of  sand — 
are  a  world  of  pleasure  to  them.  Their  wealth  consists  in 
possessing  a  multitude  of  small  things.  I  watch  Armand 
and  find  him  talking  to  the  flowers,  the  flies,  the  chickens, 
and  imitating  them.     He  is  on  friendly  terms  with  insects, 


324  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BR  WES. 

and  never  wearies  of  admiring  them.  Everything  which  is 
on  a  minute  scale  interests  them.  Armand  is  beginning  to 
ask  the  "why"  of  everything  he  sees.  He  has  come  to  ask 
what  I  am  saying  to  his  godmother,  whom  he  looks  on  as  a 
fairy.     Strange  how  children  hit  the  mark  ! 

Alas !  my  sweet,  I  would  not  sadden  you  with  the  tale  of 
my  joys.  Let  me  give  you  some  notion  of  your  godson's 
character.  The  other  day  we  were  followed  by  a  poor  man 
begging — beggars  soon  find  out  that  a  mother  with  her  child 
at  her  side  can't  resist  them.  Armand  has  no  idea  what 
hunger  is,  and  money  is  a  sealed  book  to  him  ;  but  I  had  just 
bought  him  a  trumpet  which  had  long  been  the  object  of  his 
desires.  He  held  it  out  to  the  old  man  with  a  kingly  air, 
saying : 

"Here,  take  this!" 

What  joy  the  world  can  give  would  compare  with  such  a 
moment? 

**May  I  keep  it?"  said  the  poor  man  to  me.  *'I  too, 
madame,  have  had  children,"  he  added,  hardly  noticing  the 
money  I  put  into  his  hand. 

I  shudder  when  I  think  that  Armand  must  go  to  school, 
and  that  I  have  only  three  years  and  a  half  more  to  keep  him 
by  me.  The  flowers  that  blossom  in  his  sunny  childhood 
will  fall  before  the  scythe  of  a  public-school  system  ;  his 
gracious  ways  and  bewitching  candor  will  lose  their  spon- 
taneity. They  will  cut  the  curls  that  I  have  brushed  and 
smoothed  and  kissed  so  often  !  What  will  they  do  with  the 
thinking  being  that  is  Armand? 

And  what  of  you  ?  You  tell  me  nothing  of  your  life.  Are 
you  still  in  love  with  Felipe?  For,  as  regards  the  Saracen,  I 
have  no  uneasiness.  Adieu ;  NaTs  has  just  had  a  tumble,  and, 
if  I  run  my  drama  on  like  this,  my  letter  will  become  a 
volume. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  825 

XLVI. 
MME.    DE  MACUMER  TO   THE  COMTESSE   DE   l'eSTORADE. 

Chantepleurs,  1829. 

My  sweet,  tender  Retire,  you  will  have  learned  from  the 
papers  the  terrible  calmity  which  has  overwhelmed  me.  I 
have  not  been  able  to  write  you  even  a  word.  For  twenty 
days  I  never  left  his  bedside ;  I  received  his  last  breath  and 
closed  his  eyes ;  I  kept  holy  watch  over  him  with  the  priests 
and  repeated  the  prayers  for  the  dead.  The  cruel  pangs  I 
suffered  were  accepted  by  me  as  a  rightful  punishment ;  and 
yet,  when  I  saw  on  his  calm  lips  the  smile  which  was  his  last 
farewell  to  me,  how  was  it  possible  to  believe  that  I  had 
caused  his  death  by  my  love.  But  he  ts  noi,  and  I,  I  am  I 
To  you,  who  have  known  us  both  so  well,  what  more  need  I 
say?     These  words  contain  all. 

Oh  !  I  would  give  my  share  of  heaven  to  hear  the  flattering 
tale  that  my  prayers  have  power  to  call  him  back  to  life !  To 
see  him  again,  to  have  him  once  more  mine,  were  it  only  for 
a  second,  would  mean  that  I  could  draw  breath  again  without 
mortal  agony.  Will  you  not  come  soon  and  soothe  me  with 
such  promises?  Is  not  your  love  strong  enough  to  de- 
ceive me. 

But  stay  !  it  was  you  who  told  me  beforehand  that  he  would 
suffer  through  me.  Was  it  so  indeed  ?  Yes,  it  is  true,  I  had 
no  right  to  his  love.  Like  a  thief,  I  took  what  was  not  mine, 
and  my  frenzied  grasp  has  crushed  the  life  out  of  my  bliss. 
The  madness  is  over  now,  but  I  feel  that  I  am  alone.  Merci- 
ful God  !  what  torture  of  the  damned  can  exceed  the  misery 
in  that  word? 

When  they  took  him  away  from  me,  I  lay  down  on  the 
same  bed  and  hoped  to  die.  There  was  but  a  door  between 
us,  and  it  seemed  to  me  I  had  strength  to  force  it !     But, 


326  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

alas  !  I  was  too  young  for  death ;  and  after  forty  days,  during 
which,  with  cruel  care  and  all  the  sorry  inventions  of  medical 
science,  they  slowly  nursed  me  back  to  life,  I  find  myself  in 
the  country,  seated  by  my  window,  surrounded  with  lovely 
flowers,  which  he  made  to  bloom  for  me,  gazing  on  the  same 
splendid  view  over  which  his  eyes  have  so  often  wandered, 
and  which  he  was  so  proud  to  have  discovered,  since  it  gave 
me  pleasure.  Ah  !  dear  Ren^e,  no  words  can  tell  how  new 
surroundings  hurt  when  the  heart  is  dead.  I  shiver  at  the 
sight  of  the  moist  earth  in  my  garden,  for  the  earth  is  a  vast 
tomb,  and  it  is  almost  as  though  I  walked  on  him!  When  I 
first  went  out,  I  trembled  with  fear  and  could  not  move.  It 
was  so  sad  to  see  his  flowers,  and  he  not  there  ! 

My  father  and  mother  are  in  Spain.  You  know  what  my 
brothers  are,  and  you  yourself  are  detained  in  the  country. 
But  you  need  not  be  uneasy  about  me ;  two  angels  of  mercy 
flew  to  my  side.  The  Due  and  Duchesse  de  Soria  hastened  to 
their  brother  in  his  illness,  and  have  been  everything  that 
heart  could  wish.  The  last  few  nights  before  the  end  found 
the  three  of  us  gathered,  in  calm  and  wordless  grief,  round 
the  bed  where  this  great  man  was  breathing  his  last,  a  man 
among  a  thousand,  rare  in  any  age,  head  and  shoulders  above 
the  rest  of  us  in  everything.  The  patient  resignation  of  my 
Felipe  was  angelic.  The  sight  of  his  brother  and  Marie  gave 
him  a  moment's  pleasure  and  easing  of  his  pain. 

**  Darling,"  he  said  to  me  with  the  simple  frankness  which 
never  deserted  him,  "  I  had  almost  gone  from  life  without 
leaving  to  Fernand  the  Barony  of  Macumer ;  I  must  make  a 
new  will.  My  brother  will  forgive  me  ;  he  knows  what  it  is 
to  love !  " 

I  owe  my  life  to  the  care  of  my  brother-in-law  and  his  wife  ; 
they  want  to  carry  me  off  to  Spain  ! 

Ah  !  Ren^e,  to  no  one  but  you  can  I  speak  freely  of  my 
grief.  A  sense  of  my  own  faults  weighs  me  to  the  ground, 
and  there  is  a  bitter  solace  in  pouring  them  out  to  you,  poor, 


LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES.  327 

unheeded  Cassandra.  The  exactions,  the  preposterous  jeal- 
ousy, the  nagging  unrest  of  my  passion  wore  him  to  death. 
My  love  was  the  more  fraught  with  danger  for  hira  because  we 
had  both  the  same  exquisitely  sensitive  nature,  we  spoke  the 
same  language,  nothing  was  lost  on  him,  and  often  the  mock- 
ing shaft,  so  carelessly  discharged,  went  straight  to  his  heart. 
You  can  have  no  idea  of  the  point  to  which  he  carried  sub- 
missiveness.  I  had  only  to  tell  him  to  go  and  leave  me  alone, 
and  the  caprice,  however  wounding  to  him,  would  be  obeyed 
without  a  murmur.  His  l^st  breath  was  spent  in  blessing  me 
and  in  repeating  that  a  single  morning  alone  with  me  was 
more  precious  to  him  than  a  lifetime  spent  with  another 
woman,  were  she  even  the  Marie  of  his  youth.  My  tears  fall 
as  I  write  the  words. 

This  is  the  manner  of  my  life  now.  I  rise  at  midday  and 
go  to  bed  at  seven  ;  I  linger  absurdly  long  over  meals ;  I 
saunter  about  slowly,  standing  motionless,  an  hour  at  a  time, 
before  a  single  plant ;  I  gaze  into  the  leafy  trees ;  I  take  a 
sober  and  serious  interest  in  mere  nothings ;  I  long  for  shade, 
silence,  and  night ;  in  a  word,  I  fight  through  each  hour  as  it 
comes,  and  take  a  gloomy  pleasure  in  adding  it  to  the  heap  of 
the  vanquished.  My  peaceful  park  gives  me  all  the  company 
I  care  for ;  everything  there  is  full  of  glorious  images  of  my 
vanished  joy,  invisible  for  others  but  eloquent  to  me.    . 

"I  cannot  away  with  you  Spaniards!"  I  exclaimed  one 
morning,  as  my  sister-in-law  flung  herself  on  my  neck.  "  You 
have  some  nobility  in  your  souls  that  we  lack." 

Ah  !  Ren^e,  if  I  still  live,  it  is  doubtless  because  heaven 
tempers  the  sense  of  affliction  to  the  strength  of  those  who 
have  to  bear  it.  Only  a  woman  can  know  what  it  is  to  lose  a 
love  which  sprang  from  the  heart  and  was  genuine  throughout, 
a  passion  which  was  not  ephemeral,  and  satisfied  at  once  the 
spirit  and  the  flesh.  How  rare  it  is  to  find  a  man  so  gifted 
that  to  worship  him  brings  no  sense  of  degradation  !  If  such 
supreme  fortune  befall  us  once,  we  cannot  hope  for  it  a  second 


328  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

time.  Men  of  true  greatness,  whose  strength  and  worth  are 
veiled  by  poetic  grace,  and  who  charm  by  some  high  spiritual 
power,  men  made  to  be  adored,  beware  of  love !  Love  will 
ruin  you,  and  ruin  the  woman  of  your  heart.  This  is  the 
burden  of  my  cry  as  I  pace  my  woodland  walks. 

And  he  has  left  me  no  child  !  That  love  so  rich  in  smiles, 
which  rained  perpetual  flowers  and  joy,  has  left  no  fruit.  I 
am  a  thing  accursed.  Can  it  be  that,  even  as  the  two  ex- 
tremes of  polar  ice  and  torrid  sand  are  alike  intolerant  of  life, 
so  the  very  purity  and  vehemence  of  a  single-hearted  passion 
render  it  barren  as  hate?  Is  it  only  a  marriage  of  reason, 
such  as  yours,  which  is  blessed  with  a  family?  Can  heaven 
be  jealous  of  our  passions  ?     These  are  wild  words. 

You  are,  I  believe,  the  one  person  whose  company  I  could 
endure.  Come  to  me,  then  ;  none  but  Renee  should  be  with 
Louise  in  her  sombre  garb.  What  a  day  when  I  first  put  on 
my  widow's  bonnet !  When  I  saw  myself  all  arrayed  in  black, 
I  fell  back  on  a  seat  and  wept  till  night  came ;  and  I  weep 
again  as  I  recall  that  moment  of  anguish. 

Farewell.  Writing  tires  me;  thoughts  crowd  fast,  but  I 
have  no  heart  to  put  them  into  words.  Bring  your  children ; 
you  can  nurse  baby  here  without  making  me  jealous ;  all  that 
is  gone,  he  is  not  here,  and  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  my 
godson.  Felipe  used  to  wish  for  a  child  like  little  Armand. 
Come,  then ;  come  and  help  me  bear  my  woe. 


XLVII. 

REN]fcE  TO   LOUISE. 

829. 

My  Darling  : — When  you  hold  this  letter  in  your  hands, 
I  shall  be  already  near,  for  I  am  starting  a  few  minutes  after  it. 
We  shall  be  alone  together.  Louis  is  obliged  to  remain  in 
Provence  because  of  the  approaching  elections.     He  wants  to 


LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES.  329 

be  elected  again,  and  the  Liberals  are  already  plotting  against 
his  return. 

I  don't  come  to  comfort  you;  I  only  bring  you  my  heart 
to  beat  in  sympathy  with  yours,  and  help  you  to  bear  with 
life.  I  come  to  bid  you  weep,  for  only  with  tears  can  you 
purchase  the  joy  of  meeting  him  again.  Remember,  he  is 
traveling  toward  heaven,  and  every  step  forward  which  you 
take  brings  you  nearer  to  him.  Every  duty  done  breaks  a 
link  in  the  chain  that  parts  you. 

Louise,  in  my  arms  you  will  once  more  raise  your  head  and 
go  on  your  way  to  him,  pure,  noble,  washed  of  all  those 
errors,  which  had  no  root  in  your  heart,  and  bearing  with 
you  the  harvest  of  good  deeds  which,  in  his  name,  you  will 
accomplish  here. 

I  scribble  these  hasty  lines  in  all  the  bustle  of  preparation, 
and  interrupted  by  the  babies  and  by  Armand,  who  keeps 
crying,  "  Godmother,  godmother  !  I  want  to  see  her,"  till  I 
am  almost  jealous.     He  might  be  your  child ! 


SECOND  PART. 

XLVIII. 

the  baronne  de  macumer  to  the  comtesse  de 
l'estorade. 

October  15,  1833, 

Well,  yes,  Rende,  it  is  quite  true ;  you  have  been  correctly 
informed.  I  have  sold  my  house,  I  have  sold  Chantepleurs, 
and  the  farms  in  Seine-et-Marne,  but  no  more,  please !  I  am 
neither  mad  nor  ruined,  I  assure  you. 

Let  us  go  into  the  matter.  When  everything  was  wound 
up,  there  remained  to  me  of  my  poor  Macumer's  fortune 
about  twelve  hundred  thousand  francs.  I  will  account,  as  to 
a  practical  sister,  for  every  penny  of  this. 

I  put  a  million  into  the  Three  per  Cents,  when  they  were 
at  fifty,  and  so  I  have  got  an  income  for  myself  of  sixty  thou- 
sand francs,  instead  of  the  thirty  thousand  which  the  property 
yielded.  Then,  only  think  what  my  life  was.  Six  months 
of  the  year  in  the  country,  renewing  leases,  listening  to  the 
grumbles  of  the  farmers,  who  pay  when  it  pleases  them,  and 
getting  as  bored  as  a  sportsman  in  wet  weather.  There  was 
produce  to  sell,  and  I  always  sold  it  at  a  loss.  Then,  in  Paris 
my  house  represented  a  rental  of  ten  thousand  francs ;  I  had 
to  invest  my  money  at  the  notaries ;  I  was  kept  waiting  for  the 
interest,  and  could  only  get  the  money  back  by  prosecuting ; 
in  addition  I  had  to  study  the  law  of  mortgage.  In  short, 
there  was  business  in  Nivernais,  in  Seine-et-Marne,  in  Paris — 
and  what  a  burden,  what  a  nuisance,  what  a  vexing  and  losing 
game  for  a  widow  of  twenty-seven  ! 

Whereas  now  my  fortune  is  secured  on  the  budget.  In 
place  of  paying  taxes  lo  the  State,  I  receive  from  it,  every 
(330) 


LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES.  881 

half-year,  in  my  own  person,  and  free  from  cost,  thirty  thou- 
sand francs  in  thirty  notes,  handed  over  the  counter  to  me  by 
a  dapper  little  clerk  at  the  Treasury,  who  smiles  when  he  sees 
me  coming ! 

"Supposing  the  nation  became  bankrupt?"  I  hear  you 
say.  Well,  to  begin  with — "  'Tis  not  mine  to  seek  trouble  so 
far  from  my  door."  At  the  worst,  too,  the  nation  would  not 
dock  me  of  more  than  half  my  income,  so  I  should  still  be  as 
well  off  as  before  my  investment,  and  in  the  meantime  I  shall 
be  drawing  a  double  income  until  the  catastrophe  arrives.  A 
nation  doesn't  become  bankrupt  more  than  once  in  a  century, 
so  I  shall  have  plenty  of  time  to  amass  a  little  capital  out  of 
my  savings. 

And,  finally,  is  not  the  Comte  de  I'Estorade  a  peer  of  this 
July  semi-republic?  Is  he  not  one  of  those  pillars  of  royalty 
offered  by  the  "people"  to  the  King  of  the  French?  How 
can  I  have  qualms  with  a  friend  at  Court,  a  great  financier, 
head  of  the  Audit  Department?  I  defy  you  to  arraign  my 
sanity  !     I  am  almost  as  good  at  sums  as  your  citizen  king. 

Do  you  know  what  inspires  a  woman  with  all  this  algebraic 
wisdom  ?     Love,  my  dear  ! 

Alas  !  the  moment  has  come  for  unfolding  to  you  the  mys- 
teries of  my  conduct,  the  motives  of  which  have  baffled  even 
your  keen  sight,  your  prying  affection,  and  your  subtlety.  I 
am  to  be  married  in  a  coyntry  village  near  Paris.  I  love  and 
am  loved.  I  love  as  much  as  a  woman  can  who  knows  love 
well.  I  am  loved  as  much  as  a  woman  ought  to  be  by  the 
man  she  adores. 

Forgive  me,  Ren^e,  for  keeping  this  a  secret  from  you  and 
from  every  one.  If  your  friend  evades  all  spies  and  puts  cur- 
iosity on  a  false  track,  you  must  admit  that  my  feeling  for 
poor  Macumer  justified  some  dissimulation.  Beside,  de  I'Es- 
torade and  you  would  have  deafened  me  with  remonstrances, 
and  plagued  me  to  death  with  your  misgivings,  to  which  the 
facts  might  have  lent  some  color.     You  know,  if  no  one  else 


332  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES, 

does,  to  what  pitch  my  jealousy  can  go,  and  all  this  would 
only  have  been  useless  torture  to  me.  I  was  determined  to 
carry  out,  on  my  own  responsibility,  what  you,  Rende,  will 
call  my  insane  project,  and  I  would  take  counsel  only  with 
my  own  head  and  heart,  for  all  the  world  like  a  schoolgirl 
giving  the  slip  to  her  watchful  parents. 

The  man  I  love  possesses  nothing  except  thirty  thousand 
francs'  worth  of  debts,  which  I  have  paid.  What  a  theme  for 
comment  here  !  You  would  have  tried  to  make  Gaston  out 
an  adventurer;  your  husband  would  have  set  detectives  on 
the  dear  boy.  I  preferred  to  sift  him  for  myself.  He  has 
been  wooing  me  now  close  on  two  years.  I  am  twenty-seven, 
he  is  twenty-three.  The  difference,  I  admit,  is  huge  when  it 
is  on  the  wrong  side.     Another  source  of  lamentation  ! 

Lastly,  he  is  a  poet,  and  has  lived  by  his  trade — that  is  to 
say,  on  next  to  nothing,  as  you  will  readily  understand. 
Being  a  poet,  he  has  spent  more  time  weaving  day-dreams, 
and  basking,  lizard-like,  in  the  sun,  than  scribing  in  his  dingy 
garret.  Now,  practical  people  have  a  way  of  tarring  with  the 
same  brush  of  inconstancy  authors,  artists,  and  in  general  all 
men  who  live  by  their  brains.  Their  nimble  and  fertile  wit 
lays  them  open  to  the  charge  of  a  like  agility  in  matters  of  the 
heart. 

Spite  of  the  debts,  spite  of  the  difference  in  age,  spite  of 
the  poetry,  an  end  is  to  be  placed  in  a  few  days  to  a  heroic 
resistance  of  more  than  nine  months,  during  which  he  has  not 
been  allowed  even  to  kiss  my  hand,  and  so  also  ends  the 
season  of  our  sweet,  pure  love-making.  This  is  not  the  mere 
surrender  of  a  raw,  ignorant,  and  curious  girl,  as  it  was  eight 
years  ago ;  the  gift  is  deliberate,  and  my  lover  awaits  it  with 
such  loyal  patience  that,  if  I  pleased,  I  could  postpone  the 
marriage  for  a  year.  There  is  no  servility  in  this  ;  love's  slave 
he  may  be,  but  the  heart  is  not  slavish.  Never  have  I  seen  a 
man  of  nobler  feeling,  or  one  whose  tenderness  was  more 
rich  in  fancy,  whose  love  bore  more  the  impress  of  his  soul. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  333 

Alas !  my  sweet  one,  the  art  of  love  is  his  by  heritage.  A 
few  words  will  tell  his  story. 

My  friend  has  no  other  name  than  Marie  Gaston.  He  is 
the  illegitimate  son  of  the  beautiful  Lady  Brandon,  whose 
fame  must  have  reached  you,  and  who  died  broken-hearted, 
a  victim  to  the  vengeance  of  Lady  Dudley — a  ghastly  story 
of  which  the  dear  boy  knows  nothing.  Marie  Gaston  was 
placed  by  his  brother  Louis  in  a  boarding-school  at  Tours,* 
where  he  remained  till  1827.  Louis,  after  settling  his  brother 
at  school,  sailed  a  few  days  later  for  foreign  parts  "  to  seek 
his  fortune,"  to  use  the  words  of  an  old  woman  who  had 
played  the  part  of  Providence  to  him.  This  brother  turned 
sailor  used  to  write  him,  at  long  intervals,  letters  quite  fatherly 
in  tone,  and  breathing  a  noble  spirit ;  but  a  struggling  life 
never  allowed  him  to  return  home.  His  last  letter  told 
Marie  that  he  had  been  appointed  captain  in  the  navy  of 
some  American  republic,  and  exhorted  him  to  hope  for  better 
days. 

Alas  !  since  then  three  years  have  passed,  and  my  poor  poet 
has  never  heard  again.  So  dearly  did  he  love  his  brother, 
that  he  would  have  started  to  look  for  him  but  for  Daniel 
d'Arthez,  the  well-known  author,  who  took  a  generous  interest 
in  Marie  Gaston,  and  prevented  him  carrying  out  his  mad 
impulse.  Nor  was  this  all ;  often  would  he  give  him  a  crust 
and  a  corner,  as  the  poet  puts  it  in  his  graphic  words. 

For,  in  truth,  the  poor  lad  was  in  terrible  straits ;  he  was 
actually  innocent  enough  to  believe — incredible  as  it  seems — 
that  genius  was  the  shortest  road  to  fortune  (that  will  surely 
make  you  laugh  for  hours),  and  from  1828  to  1833  his  one 
aim  has  been  to  make  a  name  for  himself  in  letters.  Naturally 
his  life  was  a  frightful  tissue  of  toil  and  hardships,  alternating 
between  hope  and  despair.  The  good  advice  of  d'Arthez 
could  not  prevail  against  the  allurements  of  ambition,  and  his 
debts  went  on  growing  like  a  snowball.  Still  he  was  beginning 
*See  "  La  Grenadidre." 


334  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

to  come  into  notice  when  I  happened  to  meet  him  at  Mme. 
de  Espard's.  At  first  sight  he  inspired  me,  unconsciously  to 
himself,  with  the  most  vivid  sympathy.  How  did  it  come 
about  that  this  virgin  heart  had  been  left  for  me?  The  fact 
is  that  my  poet  combines  genius  and  cleverness,  passion  and 
pride,  and  women  are  always  afraid  of  greatness  which  has  no 
weak  side  to  it.  How  many  victories  were  needed  before 
Josephine  could  see  the  great  Napoleon  in  the  little  Bonaparte 
whom  she  had  married  ? 

Poor  Gaston  is  innocent  enough  to  think  he  knows  the 
measure  of  my  love  !  He  simply  has  not  an  idea  of  it,  but  to 
you  I  must  make  it  clear ;  for  this  letter,  Renee,  is  something 
in  the  nature  of  a  last  will  and  testament.  Weigh  well  what 
I  am  going  to  say,  I  beg  of  you. 

At  this  moment  I  am  confident  of  being  loved  as  perhaps 
not  another  woman  on  this  earth  is,  nor  have  I  a  shadow  of 
doubt  as  to  the  perfect  happiness  of  our  wedded  life,  to  which 
I  bring  a  feeling  hitherto  unknown  to  me.  Yes,  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life,  I  know  the  delight  of  being  swayed  by  passion. 
That  which  every  woman  seeks  in  love  will  be  mine  in  mar- 
riage. As  poor  Felipe  once  adored  me,  so  do  I  now  adore 
Gaston.  I  have  lost  control  of  myself,  I  tremble  before  this 
boy  as  the  Arab  hero  used  to  tremble  before  me.  In  a  word, 
the  balance  of  love  is  now  on  my  side,  and  this  makes  me 
timid.  I  am  full  of  the  most  absurd  terrors.  I  am  afraid  of 
being  deserted,  afraid  of  becoming  old  and  ugly  while  Gaston 
still  retains  his  youth  and  beauty,  afraid  of  coming  short  of 
his  hopes ! 

And  yet  I  believe  I  have  it  in  me,  I  believe  I  have  sufficient 
devotion  and  ability,  not  only  to  keep  alive  the  flame  of  his 
love  in  our  solitary  life,  far  from  the  world,  but  even  to  make 
it  burn  stronger  and  brighter.  If  I  am  mistaken,  if  this 
splendid  idyl  of  love  in  hiding  must  come  to  an  end — an  end ! 
what  am  I  saying? — if  I  find  Gaston's  love  less  intense  any 
day  than  it  was  the  evening  before,  be  sure  of  this,  Ren6e,  I 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  335 

should  visit  ray  failure  only  on  myself;  no  blame  should  attach 
to  him.  I  tell  you  now,  it  would  mean  my  death.  Not  even 
if  I  had  children  could  I  live  on  these  terms,  for  I  know 
myself,  Renee ;  I  know  that  my  nature  is  the  lover's  rather 
than  the  mother's.  Therefore,  before  taking  this  vow  upon 
my  soul,  I  implore  you,  my  Renee,  if  this  disaster  befall  me, 
to  take  the  place  of  mother  to  my  children  ;  let  them  be  my 
legacy  to  you  !  All  that  I  know  of  you,  your  blind  attach- 
ment to  duty,  your  rare  gifts,  your  love  of  children,  your 
affection  for  me,  would  help  to  make  my  death — I  dare  not 
say  easy — but  at  least  less  bitter. 

The  compact  I  have  thus  made  with  myself  adds  a  vague 
terror  to  the  solemnity  of  my  marriage  ceremony.  For  this 
reason  I  wish  to  have  no  one  whom  I  know  present,  and  it 
will  be  performed  in  secret.  Let  my  heart  fail  me  if  it  will, 
at  least  I  shall  not  read  anxiety  in  your  dear  eyes,  and  I  alone 
shall  know  that  this  new  marriage-contract  which  I  sign  may 
be  my  death-warrant. 

I  shall  not  refer  again  to  this  agreement  entered  into 
between  my  present  self  and  the  self  I  am  to  be.  I  have 
confided  it  to  you  in  order  that  you  might  know  the  full 
extent  of  your  responsibilities.  In  marrying  I  retain  full 
control  of  my  property ;  and  Gaston,  while  aware  that  I  have 
enough  to  secure  a  comfortable  life  for  both  of  us,  is  ignorant 
of  its  amount.  Within  twenty-four  hours  I  shall  dispose  of  it 
as  I  please;  and,  in  order  to  save  him  from  a  humiliating 
position,  I  shall  have  stock,  bringing  in  twelve  thousand 
francs  a  year,  assigned  to  him.  He  will  find  this  in  his  desk 
on  the  eve  of  our  wedding.  If  he  declines  to  accept,  I  should 
break  off  the  whole  thing.  I  had  to  threaten  a  rupture  to 
get  his  permission  to  pay  his  debts. 

This  long  confession  has  tired  me.  I  shall  finish  it  the  day 
after  to-morrow ;  I  have  to  spend  to-morrow  in  the  country. 


336  LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

Octoltr  20th. 

I  will  tell  you  now  the  steps  I  have  taken  to  insure  secrecy. 
My  object  has  been  to  ward  off  every  possible  incitement  to 
my  ever-wakeful  jealousy,  in  imitation  of  the  Italian  princess, 
who,  like  a  lioness,  rushing  on  her  prey,  carried  it  off  to  some 
Swiss  town  to  devour  in  peace.  And  I  confide  my  plans  to 
you  only  because  I  have  another  favor  to  beg ;  namely,  that 
you  will  respect  our  solitude  and  never  come  to  see  us  unin- 
vited. 

Two  years  ago  I  purchased  a  small  property  overlooking 
the  ponds  of  Ville  d' Avray,  on  the  road  to  Versailles.  It  con- 
sists of  twenty  acres  of  meadow-land,  the  skirts  of  a  wood, 
and  a  fine  fruit  garden.  Below  the  meadows  the  land  has 
been  excavated  so  as  to  make  a  lake  of  about  three  acres  in 
extent,  with  a  charming  little  island  in  the  middle.  The 
small  valley  is  shut  in  by  two  graceful,  thickly  wooded  slopes, 
where  rise  delicious  springs  that  water  my  park  by  means  of 
channels  cleverly  disposed  by  my  architect.  Finally,  they 
fall  into  the  royal  ponds,  glimpses  of  which  can  be  seen  here 
and  there,  gleaming  in  the  distance.  My  little  park  has  been 
admirably  laid  out  by  the  architect,  who  has  surrounded  it 
with  hedges,  walls,  or  sunken  fences,  according  to  the  lay  of 
the  land,  so  that  no  possible  point  of  view  may  be  lost. 

A  lovely  cottage  has  been  built  for  me  half-way  up  the  hill- 
side, with  a  charming  exposure,  having  the  woods  of  the 
Ronce  on  either  side,  and  in  front  a  grassy  slope  running 
down  to  the  lake.  Externally  the  chalet  is  an  exact  copy  of 
those  which  are  so  much  admired  by  travelers  on  the  road 
from  Sion  to  Brieg,  and  which  fascinated  me  when  I  was  re- 
turning from  Italy.  The  internal  decorations  will  bear  com- 
parison with  those  of  the  most  celebrated  buildings  of  the  kind. 

A  hundred  paces  from  this  rustic  dwelling  stands  a  charm- 
ing and  ornamental  house,  communicating  with  it  by  a  sub- 
terranean passage.  This  contains  the  kitchen,  and  other 
servants'  rooms,  stables,  and  coach-houses.     Of  all  this  series 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  337 

of  brick  buildings  tlie  facade  alone  is  seen,  graceful  in  its 
simplicity,  against  a  background  of  shrubbery.  Another 
building  serves  to  lodge  the  gardeners  and  masks  the  entrance 
to  the  orchards  and  kitchen -gardens. 

The  entrance  gate  to  the  property  is  so  hidden  in  the  wall 
dividing  the  park  from  the  wood  as  almost  to  defy  detection. 
The  plantations,  already  well  grown,  will,  in  two  or  three 
years,  completely  hide  the  buildings,  so  that,  except  in  winter, 
when  the  trees  are  bare,  no  trace  of  habitation  will  appear  to 
the  outside  world,  save  only  the  smoke  visible  from  the 
neighboring  hills. 

The  surroundings  of  my  chalet  have  been  modeled  on  what 
is  called  the  King's  Garden  at  Versailles,  but  it  has  an  out- 
look on  my  lake  and  island.  The  hills  on  every  side  display 
their  abundant  foliage — those  splendid  trees  for  which  your 
civil  list  has  so  well  cared.  My  gardeners  have  orders  to  cul- 
tivate sweet-scented  flowers  to  any  extent,  and  no  others,  so 
that  our  home  will  be  a  fragrant  emerald.  The  chalet, 
adorned  with  a  wild  vine  which  covers  the  roof,  is  literally 
imbedded  in  climbing  plants  of  all  kinds — hops,  clematis, 
jasmine,  azalea,  copaea.  It  will  be  a  sharp  eye  which  can 
descry  our  windows  ! 

The  chalet,  my  dear,  is  a  good,  solid  house,  with  its  heating 
system  and  all  the  conveniences  of  modern  architecture, 
which  can  raise  a  palace  in  the  compass  of  a  hundred  square 
feet.  It  contains  a  suite  of  rooms  for  Gaston  and  another  for 
me.  The  first-floor  is  occupied  by  an  anteroom,  a  parlor,  and 
a  dining-room.  Above  our  floor  again  are  three  rooms  des- 
tined for  the  nursery.  I  have  five  first-rate  horses,  a  small 
light  coupe,  and  a  two-horse  milord.  We  are  only  forty 
minutes'  drive  from  Paris ;  so  that,  when  the  spirit  moves  us 
to  hear  an  opera  or  see  a  new  play,  we  can  start  after  dinner 
and  return  the  same  night  to  our  bower.  The  road  is  a  good 
one,  and  passes  under  the  shade  of  our  green  dividing  wall  of 
woods  for  some  distance. 
22 


338  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

My  servants — cook,  coachman,  groom,  and  gardeners,  in 
addition  to  my  maid — are  all  very  respectable  people,  whom 
I  have  spent  the  last  six  months  in  picking  up,  and  they  will 
be  superintended  by  my  old  Philippe.  Although  confident 
of  their  loyalty  and  good  faith,  I  have  not  neglected  to  culti- 
vate self-interest ;  their  wages  are  small,  but  will  receive  an 
annual  addition  in  the  shape  of  a  New  Year's  Day  present. 
They  are  all  aware  that  the  slightest  fault,  or  a  mere  suspicion 
of  gossiping,  might  lose  them  a  capital  place.  Lovers  are 
never  troublesome  to  their  servants;  they  are  indulgent  by 
disposition,  and  therefore  I  feel  that  I  can  reckon  on  my 
household. 

All  that  is  choice,  pretty,  or  decorative  in  my  house  in  the 
Rue  du  Bac  has  been  transported  to  the  chalet.  The  Rem- 
brandt hangs  on  the  staircase,  as  though  it  were  a  mere  daub ; 
the  Hobbema  faces  the  Rubens  in  his  study;  the  Titian, 
which  my  sister-in-law  Marie  sent  me  from  Madrid,  adorns 
the  boudoir.  The  beautiful  furniture  picked  up  by  Felipe 
looks  very  well  in  the  parlor,  which  the  architect  has  decorated 
most  tastefully.  Everything  at  the  chalet  is  charmingly  simple, 
with  the  simplicity  which  can't  be  got  under  a  hundred  thou- 
sand francs.  Our  first-floor  rests  on  cellars,  which  are  built  of 
millstone  and  imbedded  in  concrete ;  it  is  almost  completely 
buried  in  flowers  and  shrubs,  and  is  deliciously  cool  without  a 
vestige  of  damp.  To  complete  the  picture,  a  fleet  of  white 
swans  sail  over  my  lake  at  the  foot  of  the  lawn  ! 

Oh  !  Renee,  the  silence  which  reigns  in  this  valley  would 
bring  joy  to  the  dead  !  One  is  awakened  by  the  birds  singing 
or  the  breeze  rustling  in  the  poplars.  A  little  spring,  dis- 
covered by  the  architect  in  digging  the  foundations  of  the 
wall,  trickles  down  the  hillside  over  silvery  sand  to  the  lake, 
between  two  banks  of  watercress,  hugging  the  edge  of  the 
woods.     I  know  nothing  that  money  can  buy  to  equal  it. 

May  not  Gaston  come  to  loathe  this  too  perfect  bliss?  I 
shudder   to  think   how  complete  it  is,  for  the  ripest  fruits 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  839 

harbor  the  worms,  the  most  gorgeous  flowers  attract  the  in- 
sects. Is  it  not  ever  the  monarch  of  the  forest  which  is  eaten 
away  by  the  fatal  brown  grub,  voracious  as  death?  I  have 
learned  before  now  that  an  unseen  and  jealous  power  attacks 
happiness  which  has  reached  perfection.  Beside,  this  is  the 
moral  of  all  your  preaching,  and  you  have  been  proved  a 
prophet. 

When  I  went,  the  day  before  yesterday,  to  see  whether  my 
last  whim  had  been  carried  out,  tears  rose  to  my  eyes ;  and, 
to  the  great  surprise  of  my  architect,  I  at  once  passed  his 
account  for  payment. 

''But,  madame,"  he  exclaimed,  "your  man  of  business 
will  refuse  to  pay  this ;  it  is  a  matter  of  three  hundred  thou- 
sand francs."  My  only  reply  was  to  add  the  words,  "  To  be 
paid  without  question,"  with  the  bearing  of  a  seventeenth- 
century  Chaulieu. 

"But,"  I  said,  "  there  is  one  condition  to  my  gratitude. 
No  human  being  must  hear  from  you  of  the  park  and  build- 
ings. Promise  me,  on  your  honor,  to  observe  this  article  in 
our  contract — not  to  breathe  to  any  living  soul  the  propri- 
etor's name." 

Now,  can  you  understand  the  meaning  of  my  sudden  jour- 
neys, my  mysterious  comings  and  goings  ?  Now,  do  you 
know  whither  those  beautiful  things,  which  the  world  supposes 
to  be  sold,  have  flown  ?  Do  you  perceive  the  ultimate  motive 
of  my  change  of  investment?  Love,  my  dear,  is  a  vast  busi- 
ness, and  they  who  would  succeed  in  it  should  have  no  other. 
Henceforth  I  shall  have  no  more  trouble  from  money  matters  \ 
I  have  taken  all  the  thorns  out  of  my  life,  and  done  my  house- 
keeping work  once  for  all  with  a  vengeance,  so  as  never  to  be 
troubled  with  it  again,  except  during  the  daily  ten  minutes 
which  I  shall  devote  to  my  old  major-domo,  Philippe.  I 
have  made  a  study  of  life  and  its  sharp  curves ;  there  came  a 
day  when  death  also  gave  me  a  sharp  lesson.  Now  I  want  to 
turn  all  this  to  account.     My  one  occupation  will  be  to  please 


340  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

him  and  love  hitn,  to  brighten  with  variety  what  to  common 
mortals  is  monotonously  dull. 

Gaston  is  still  in  complete  ignorance.  At  my  request  he 
has,  like  myself,  taken  up  his  quarters  at  Ville  d'Avray ;  to- 
morrow we  start  for  the  chalet.  Our  life  there  will  cost  but 
little  \  but  if  I  told  you  the  sum  I  am  setting  aside  for  my 
toilet,  you  would  exclaim  at  my  madness,  and  with  reason. 
I  intend  to  take  as  much  trouble  to  make  myself  beautiful  for 
him  every  day  as  other  women  do  for  society.  My  dress  in 
the  country,  year  in,  year  out,  will  cost  twenty-four  thousand 
francs,  and  the  larger  portion  of  this  will  not  go  in  day  cos- 
tumes. As  for  him,  he  can  wear  a  blouse  if  he  pleases ! 
Don't  suppose  that  I  am  going  to  turn  our  life  into  an  amorous 
duel  and  wear  myself  out  in  devices  for  feeding  passion ;  all 
that  I  want  is  to  have  a  conscience  free  from  reproach.  Thir- 
teen years  still  lie  before  me  as  a  pretty  woman,  and  I  am 
determined  to  be  loved  on  the  last  day  of  the  thirteenth  even 
more  fondly  than  on  the  morrow  of  our  mysterious  nuptials. 
This  time  no  cutting  words  shall  mar  my  lowly,  grateful  con- 
tent. I  will  take  the  part  of  servant,  since  that  of  mistress 
throve  so  ill  with  me  before. 

Ah  !  Renee,  if  Gaston  has  sounded,  as  I  have,  the  heights 
and  depths  of  love,  my  happiness  is  assured  !  Nature  at  the 
chalet  wears  her  fairest  face.  The  woods  are  charming ;  each 
step  opens  up  to  you  some  fresh  vista  of  cool  greenery,  which 
delights  the  soul  by  the  sweet  thoughts  it  awakens.  They 
breathe  of  love. 

If  only  this  be  not  the  gorgeous  theatre  dressed  by  my  hand 
for  my  own  martyrdom  ! 

In  two  days  from  now  I  shall  be  Mme.  Gaston.  My  God  ! 
is  it  fitting  a  Christian  so  to  love  mortal  man  ? 

"Well,  at  least  you  have  the  law  with  you,"  was  the  com- 
ment of  my  man  of  business,  who  is  to  be  one  of  my  witnesses, 
and  who  exclaimed,  on  discovering  why  my  property  was  to 
be  realized,  "  I  am  losing  a  client !  " 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  341 

And  you,  my  sweet  heart  (whom  I  dare  no  longer  call  my 
loved  one),  may  you  not  cry :   "  I  am  losing  a  sister?  " 

My  sweet,  address  when  you  write  in  future  to  Mme.  Gas- 
ton, Poste  Restante,  Versailles.  We  shall  send  there  every 
day  for  letters.  I  don't  want  to  be  known  to  the  country 
people,  and  we  shall  get  all  our  provisions  from  Paris.  In 
this  way  I  hope  we  may  guard  the  secret  of  our  lives.  No- 
body has  been  seen  in  the  place  during  the  year  spent  in  pre- 
paring our  retreat ;  and  the  purchase  was  made  in  the  troubled 
period  which  followed  the  revolution  of  July.  The  only  per- 
son who  has  shown  himself  here  is  the  architect ;  he  alone  is 
known,  and  he  will  not  return. 

Farewell.  As  I  write  this  word,  I  know  not  whether  my 
heart  is  fuller  of  grief  or  joy.  That  proves,  does  it  not  ?  that 
the  pain  of  losing  you  equals  my  love  for  Gaston. 


XLIX. 

MARIE    GASTON    TO  DANIEL    d'aRTHEZ. 

October,  1833. 

My  dear  Daniel: — I  need  two  witnesses  for  my  marriage. 
I  beg  of  you  to  come  to-morrow  evening  for  this  purpose, 
bringing  with  you  our  worthy  and  honored  friend,  Joseph 
Bridau.  She  who  is  to  be  my  wife,  with  an  instinctive  divina- 
tion of  my  dearest  wishes,  has  declared  her  intention  of  living 
far  from  the  world  in  complete  retirement.  You,  who  have 
done  so  much  to  lighten  my  penury,  have  been  left  in  ignorance 
of  my  love ;  but  you  will  understand  that  absolute  secrecy  was 
essential. 

This  will  explain  to  you  why  it  is  that,  for  the  last  year,  we 
have  seen  so  little  of  each  other.  On  the  morrow  of  my  wed- 
ding we  shall  be  parted  for  a  long  time  ;  but,  Daniel,  you  are 
of  stuff  to  understand  me.  Friendship  can  exist  in  the  ab- 
sence of  a  friend.     There  may  be  times  when  I  shall  want  you 


342  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

badly,  but  I  shall  not  see  you,  at  least  not  in  my  own  house. 
Here  again  she  has  forestalled  our  wishes.  She  has  sacrificed 
to  me  her  intimacy  with  a  friend  of  her  childhood,  who  has 
been  a  sister  to  her.  For  her  sake,  then,  I  also  must  relin- 
quish my  comrade  ! 

From  this  fact  alone  you  will  divine  that  ours  is  no  mere 
passing  fancy,  but  love,  absolute,  perfect,  godlike ;  love  based 
upon  the  fullest  knowledge  that  can  bind  two  hearts  in  sym- 
pathy.    To  me  it  is  a  perpetual  spring  of  purest  delight. 

Yet  nature  allows  of  no  happiness  without  alloy ;  and  deep 
down,  in  the  innermost  recess  of  my  heart,  I  am  conscious  of 
a  lurking  thought,  not  shared  with  her,  the  pang  of  which  is 
for  me  alone.  You  have  too  often  come  to  the  help  of  my 
inveterate  poverty  to  be  ignorant  how  desperate  matters  were 
with  me.  Where  should  I  have  found  courage  to  keep  up  the 
struggle  of  life,  after  seeing  my  hopes  so  often  blighted,  but 
for  your  cheering  words,  your  tactful  aid,  and  the  knowledge 
of  what  you  had  come  through  ?  Briefly,  then,  my  friend, 
she  freed  me  from  that  crushing  load  of  debt,  which  was  no 
secret  to  you.  She  is  wealthy,  I  am  penniless.  Many  a  time 
have  I  exclaimed,  in  one  of  my  fits  of  idleness :  "  Oh,  for 
some  great  heiress  to  cast  her  eye  on  me  !  "  And  now,  in 
presence  of  this  reality,  the  boy's  careless  jest,  the  unscrupu- 
lous cynicism  of  the  outcast,  have  alike  vanished,  leaving  in 
their  place  only  a  bitter  sense  of  humiliation,  which  not  the 
most  considerate  tenderness  on  her  part,  nor  my  own  assur- 
ance of  her  noble  nature,  can  remove.  Nay,  what  better 
proof  of  my  love  could  there  exist,  for  her  or  for  myself,  than 
this  shame,  from  which  I  have  not  recoiled,  even  when  power- 
less to  overcome  it?  The  fact  remains  that  there  is  a  point 
where,  far  from  protecting,  I  am  the  protected. 

This  is  my  pain  which  I  confide  to  you. 

Except  in  this  one  particular,  dear  Daniel,  my  fondest 
dreams  are  more  than  realized.  I  have  found  the  Beautiful 
without  a  flaw,  the  Good  without  defect.     Fairest  and  noblest 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  343 

among  women,  such  a  bride  might  indeed  raise  a  man  to 
giddy  heights  of  bliss.  Her  gentle  ways  are  seasoned  with 
wit,  her  love  comes  with  an  ever-fresh  grace  and  charm  ;  her 
mind  is  well  informed  and  quick'  to  understand  ;  in  person, 
she  is  fair  and  lovely,  with  a  rounded  slimness,  as  though 
Raphael  and  Rubens  had  conspired  to  create  a  woman  !  I  do 
not  know  whether  I  could  have  worshiped  with  such  fervor  at 
the  shrine  of  a  dark  beauty;  a  brunette  always  strikes  me  as  an 
unfinished  boy.  She  is  a  widow,  childless,  and  twenty-seven 
years  of  age.  Though  brimful  of  life  and  energy,  she  has  her 
moods  also  of  dreamy  melancholy.  These  rare  gifts  go  with 
a  proud  aristocratic  bearing  ;  she  has  a  fine  presence. 

She  belongs  to  one  of  those  old  families  who  make  a  fetish 
of  rank,  yet  loves  me  enough  to  ignore  the  misfortune  of  my 
birth.  Our  secret  passion  is  now  of  long  standing  ;  we  have 
made  trial,  each  of  the  other,  and  find  that  in  the  matter  of 
jealousy  we  are  twin  spirits ;  our  thoughts  are  the  reverbera- 
tion of  the  same  thunderclap.  We  both  love  for  the  first  time, 
and  this  bewitching  springtime  has  filled  its  days  for  us  with 
all  the  images  of  delight  that  fancy  can  paint  in  laughing, 
sweet,  or  musing  mood.  Our  path  has  been  strewn  with  the 
flowers  of  tender  imaginings.  Each  hour  brought  its  own 
wealth,  and,  when  we  parted,  it  was  to  put  our  thoughts  in 
verse.  Not  for  a  moment  did  I  harbor  the  idea  of  sullying 
the  brightness  of  such  a  time  by  giving  the  rein  to  sensual 
passion,  however  it  might  chafe  within.  She  was  a  widow  and 
free ;  intuitively,  she  realized  all  the  homage  implied  in  this 
constant  self-restraint,  which  often  moved  her  to  tears.  Can 
you  not  read  in  this,  my  friend,  a  soul  of  noble  temper  ?  In 
mutual  fear  we  shunned  even  the  first  kiss  of  love. 

"We  have  each  a  wrong  to  reproach  ourselves  with,"  she 
said  one  day. 

*'  Where  is  yours  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  My  marriage,"  was  her  reply. 

Daniel,  you  are  a  giant  among  us,  and  you  love  one  of  the 


344  LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES. 

most  gifted  women  of  the  aristocracy,  which  has  produced  my 
Armande ;  what  need  to  tell  you  more  ?  Such  an  answer  lays 
bare  to  you  a  woman's  heart  and  all  the  happiness  which  is  in 
store  for  your  friend, 

Marie  Gaston. 


L. 

MME.    DE  l'eSTORADE  TO   MME.    DE   MACUMER. 

Louise,  can  it  be  that,  with  all  your  knowledge  of  the  deep- 
seated  mischief  wrought  by  the  indulgence  of  passion,  even 
within  the  heart  of  marriage,  you  are  planning  a  life  of 
wedded  solitude  ?  Having  sacrificed  your  first  husband  in  the 
course  of  a  fashionable  career,  would  you  now  fly  to  the  desert 
to  consume  a  second  ?  What  stores  of  misery  you  are  laying 
up  for  yourself ! 

But  I  see  from  the  way  you  have  set  about  it  that  there  is 
no  going  back.  The  man  who  has  overcome  your  aversion  to 
a  second  marriage  must  indeed  possess  some  magic  of  mind 
and  heart ;  and  you  can  only  be  left  to  your  illusions.  But 
have  you  forgotten  your  former  criticism  on  young  men? 
Not  one,  you  would  say,  but  has  visited  haunts  of  shame, 
and  has  besmirched  his  purity  with  the  filth  of  the  streets. 
Where  is  the  change,  pray — in  them  or  in  you  ? 

You  are  a  lucky  woman  to  be  able  to  believe  in  happiness. 
I  have  not  the  courage  to  blame  you  for  it,  though  the  instinct 
of  affection  urges  me  to  dissuade  you  from  this  marriage. 
Yes,  a  thousand  times,  yes,  it  is  true  that  nature  and  society 
are  at  one  in  making  war  on  absolute  happiness,  because  such 
a  condition  is  opposed  to  the  laws  of  both ;  possibly,  also, 
because  heaven  is  jealous  of  its  privileges.  My  love  for  you 
forebodes  some  disaster  to  which  all  my  penetration  can  give 
no  definite  form.  I  know  neither  whence  nor  from  whom  it 
will  arise  \  but  one  need  be  no  prophet  to  foretell  that  the 


LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES.  845 

mere  weight  of  a  boundless  happiness  will  overpower  you. 
Excess  of  joy  is  harder  to  bear  than  any  amount  of  sorrow. 

Against  him  I  have  not  a  word  to  say.  You  love  him,  and 
in  all  probability  I  have  never  seen  him ;  but  some  idle  day  I 
hope  you  will  send  me  a  sketch,  however  slight,  of  this  rare, 
fine  animal. 

If  you  see  me  so  resigned  and  cheerful,  it  is  because  I  am 
convinced  that,  once  the  honeymoon  is  over,  you  will  both, 
with  one  accord,  fall  back  into  the  corr  n  track.  Some 
day,  two  years  hence,  when  we  are  walking  along  this  famous 
road,  you  will  exclaim,  "  Why,  there  is  the  chalet  which  was 
to  be  my  home  for  ever!  "  And  you  will  laugh  your  dear 
old  laugh,  which  shows  all  your  pretty  teeth  ! 

I  have  said  nothing  yet  to  Louis ;  it  would  be  too  good  an 
opening  for  his  ridicule.  I  shall  tell  him  simply  that  you  are 
going  to  be  married,  and  that  you  wish  it  kept  secret.  Un- 
luckily, you  need  neither  mother  nor  sister  for  your  bridal 
evening.  We  are  in  October  now;  like  a  brave  woman,  you 
are  grappling  with  winter  first.  If  it  were  not  a  question  of 
marriage,  I  should  say  you  were  taking  the  bull  by  the  horns. 
In  any  case,  you  will  have  in  me  the  most  discreet  and  intelli- 
gent of  friends.  That  mysterious  region,  known  as  the  centre 
of  Africa,  has  swallowed  up  many  travelers,  and  you  seem  to 
me  to  be  launching  on  an  expedition  which,  in  the  domain  of 
sentiment,  corresponds  to  those  where  so  many  explorers  have 
perished,  whether  in  the  sands  or  at  the  hands  of  natives. 
Your  desert  is,  happily,  only  two  leagues  from  Paris,  so  I 
can  wish  you  quite  cheerfully,  "A  safe  journey  and  speedy 
return." 


346  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 


LI. 

THE   COMTESSE   DE   l'eSTORADE   TO   MME.    MARIE   GASTON. 

1835. 

What  has  come  to  you,  my  dear?  After  a  silence  of  two 
years,  surely  Ren6e  has  a  right  to  feel  anxious  about  Louise. 
So  this  is  love  !  It  brushes  aside  and  scatters  to  the  winds  a 
friendship  such  as  ours  !  You  must  admit  that,  devoted  as  I 
am  to  my  children — more  even  perhaps  than  you  to  your 
Gaston — a  mother's  love  has  something  expansive  about  it 
which  does  not  allow  it  to  steal  from  other  affections,  or  inter- 
fere with  the  claims  of  friendship.  I  miss  your  letters,  I  long 
for  a  sight  of  your  dear,  sweet  face.  Oh  !  Louise,  my  heart 
has  only  conjecture  to  feed  upon  ! 

As  regards  ourselves,  I  will  try  and  tell  you  everything  as 
briefly  as  possible. 

On  reading  over  again  your  last  letter  but  one,  I  find  some 
stinging  comments  on  our  political  situation.  You  mocked 
at  us  for  keeping  the  post  in  the  Audit  Department,  which,  as 
well  as  the  title  of  count,  Louis  owed  solely  to  the  favor  of 
Charles  X.  But  I  should  like  to  know  how  it  would  be  pos- 
sible out  of  an  income  of  forty  thousand  francs,  thirty  thou- 
sand of  which  go  with  the  entail,  to  give  a  suitable  start  in 
life  to  Athena^s  and  my  poor  little  beggar  Rend?  Was  it  not 
a  duty  to  live  on  our  salary  and  prudently  allow  the  income 
of  the  estate  to  accumulate?  In  this  way  we  shall,  in  twenty 
years,  have  put  together  about  six  hundred  thousand  francs, 
which  will  provide  portions  for  my  daughter  and  for  Rene, 
whom  I  destine  for  the  navy.  The  poor  little  chap  will  have 
an  income  of  ten  thousand  francs,  and  perhaps  we  may  con- 
trive to  leave  him  in  cash  enough  to  bring  his  portion  up  to 
the  amount  of  his  sister's. 

When  he  is  captain,  my  "  Pauper  "  will  be  able  to  make  a 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  347 

wealthy  marriage  and  may,  perhaps,  take  a  position  in  society 
as  good  as  his  elder  brother's. 

These  considerations  of  prudence  determined  the  acceptance 
in  our  family  of  the  new  order  of  things.  The  new  dynasty, 
as  was  natural,  raised  Louis  to  the  peerage  and  made  him  a 
grand  officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  The  oath  once  taken, 
I'Estorade  could  not  be  half-hearted  in  his  services,  and  he 
has  since  then  made  himself  very  useful  in  the  Chamber.  The 
position  he  has  now  attained  is  one  in  which  he  can  rest  upon 
his  oars  till  the  end  of  his  days.  He  has  a  good  deal  of 
adroitness  in  business  matters ;  and  though  he  can  hardly  be 
called  an  orator,  speaks  pleasantly  and  fluently,  which  is  all 
that  is  necessary  in  politics.  His  shrewdness  and  sound  knowl- 
edge in  all  matters  of  government  and  administration  are  fully 
appreciated,  and  all  parties  consider  him  indispensable.  I  may 
tell  you  that  he  was  recently  offered  an  embassy,  but  I  would 
not  let  him  accept  it.  I  am  tied  to  Paris  by  the  education  of 
Armand  and  AthenaYs — who  are  now  respectively  thirteen  and 
nearly  eleven — and  I  don't  intend  leaving  till  little  Rene  has 
completed  his,  which  is  just  beginning. 

We  could  not  have  remained  faithful  to  the  elder  branch  of 
the  dynasty  and  returned  to  our  country  life  without  allowing 
the  education  and  prospects  of  the  three  children  to  suffer.  A 
mother,  my  sweet,  is  hardly  called  on  to  be  a  Decius,  especi- 
ally at  a  time  when  the  type  is  rare.  In  fifteen  years  from  now, 
I'Estorade  will  be  able  to  retire  to  La  Crampade  on  a  good 
pension,  having  found  a  place  as  referendary  for  Armand  in 
the  Audit  Department. 

As  for  Rene,  the  navy  will  doubtless  land  him  into  diplo- 
macy. The  little  rogue,  at  seven  years  old,  has  all  the  cun- 
ning of  an  old  cardinal. 

Oh !  Louise,  I  am  indeed  a  happy  mother.  My  children 
are  an  endless  source  of  joy  to  me — "  Senza  brama  sicura 
ricchezza." 

Armand  is  a  day  scholar  at  Henri  IV.  *s  school.     I  made 


348  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

up  my  mind  he  should  have  a  public-school  training,  yet  could 
not  reconcile  myself  to  the  thought  of  parting  with  him ;  so 
I  compromised,  as  the  Due  d' Orleans  did  before  he  became — 
or  in  order  that  he  might  become — Louis  Philippe.  Every 
morning  Lucas,  the  old  servant  whom  you  will  remember, 
takes  Armand  to  school  in  time  for  the  first  lesson,  and  brings 
him  home  again  at  half-past  four.  In  the  house  we  have  a  private 
tutor,  an  admirable  scholar,  who  helps  Armand  with  his  work 
in  the  evenings,  and  calls  him  in  the  morning  at  the  school 
hour.  Lucas  takes  him  some  lunch  during  the  play-hour  at 
midday.  In  this  way  I  am  with  my  boy  at  dinner  and  until 
he  goes  to  bed  at  night,  and  I  see  him  off  in  the  morning. 

Armand  is  the  same  charming  little  fellow,  full  of  feeling 
and  unselfish  impulse,  whom  you  loved ;  and  his  tutor  is  quite 
pleased  with  him.  I  still  have  Nais  and  the  baby — two  rest- 
less little  mortals — but  I  am  quite  as  much  a  child  as  they  are. 
I  could  not  bring  myself  to  lose  the  darlings'  sweet  caresses. 
I  could  not  live  without  the  feeling  that  at  any  moment  I  can 
fly  to  Armand's  bedside  and  watch  his  slumbers  or  snatch  a 
kiss. 

Yet  home  education  is  not  without  its  drawbacks,  to  which 
I  am  fully  alive.  Society,  like  nature,  is  a  jealous  power,  and 
will  not  have  her  rights  encroached  on,  or  her  system  set  at 
naught.  Thus,  children  who  are  brought  up  at  home  are  ex- 
posed too  early  to  the  fire  of  the  world  ;  they  see  its  passions 
and  become  at  home  in  its  subterfuges.  The  finer  distinctions, 
which  regulate  the  conduct  of  matured  men  and  women, 
elude  their  perceptions,  and  they  take  feeling  and  passion  for 
their  guide  instead  of  subordinating  these  to  the  code  of 
society ;  whilst  the  gay  trappings  and  tinsel  which  attract  so 
much  of  the  world's  favor  blind  them  to  the  importance  of 
the  more  sober  virtues.  A  child  of  fifteen  with  the  assurance 
of  a  man  of  the  world  is  a  thing  against  all  nature  ;  at  twenty- 
five  he  will  be  prematurely  old,  and  his  precocious  knowledge 
only  unfits  him  for  the  genuine  study  on  which  all  solid  ability 


LETTERS   OF   TWO   BRIDES.  349 

must  rest.  Life  in  society  is  one  long  comedy,  and  those 
who  take  part  in  it,  like  other  actors,  reflect  impressions 
which  never  penetrate  below  the  surface.  A  mother,  there- 
fore, who  wishes  not  to  part  from  her  children,  must  resolutely 
determine  that  they  shall  not  enter  the  gay  world  j  she  must 
have  courage  to  resist  their  inclinations,  as  well  as  her  own, 
and  keep  them  in  the  background.  Cornelia  had  to  keep  her 
jewels  under  lock  and  key.  Shall  I  do  less  for  the  children 
who  are  all  the  world  to  me  ? 

Now  that  I  am  thirty,  the  heat  of  the  day  is  over,  the 
hardest  bit  of  the  road  lies  behind  me.  In  a  few  years  I  shall 
be  an  old  woman,  and  the  sense  of  duty  done  is  an  immense 
encouragement.  It  would  almost  seem  as  though  my  trio  can 
read  my  thoughts  and  shape  themselves  accordingly.  A  mys- 
terious bond  of  sympathy  unites  me  to  these  children  who 
have  never  left  my  side.  If  they  knew  the  blank  in  my  life 
which  they  have  to  fill,  they  could  not  be  more  lavish  of  the 
solace  they  bring. 

Armand,  who  was  dull  and  dreamy  during  his  first  three 
years  at  school,  and  caused  me  some  uneasiness,  has  made  a 
sudden  start.  Doubtless  he  realized,  in  a  way  most  children 
never  do,  the  aim  of  all  this  preparatory  work,  which  is  to 
sharpen  the  intelligence,  to  get  them  into  habits  of  application, 
and  accustom  them  to  that  fundamental  principle  of  all  society 
— obedience.  My  dear,  a  few  days  ago  I  had  the  proud  joy 
of  seeing  Armand  crowned  at  the  great  inter-scholastic  com- 
petition in  the  crowded  Sorbonne,  when  your  godson  received 
the  first  prize  for  translation.  At  the  school  distribution  he 
got  two  first  prizes — one  for  verse  and  one  for  an  essay,  I 
went  quite  white  when  his  name  was  called  out,  and  longed  to 
shout  aloud  :  **  I  am  his  mother  !  "  Little  Nais  squeezed  my 
hand  till  it  hurt,  if  at  such  a  moment  it  were  possible  to  feel 
pain.  Ah !  Louise,  a  day  like  this  might  outweigh  many  a 
dream  of  love ! 

His  brother's  triumphs  have  spurred  on  little  Ren6,  who 


350  LETTERS  OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

wants  to  go  to  school  too.  Sometimes  the  three  children 
make  such  a  racket,  shouting  and  rushing  about  the  house, 
that  I  wonder  how  my  head  stands  it.  I  am  always  with 
them ;  no  one  else,  not  even  Mary,  is  allowed  to  take  care  of 
my  children.  But  the  calling  of  a  mother,  if  taxing,  has  so 
many  compensating  joys  !  To  see  a  child  leave  its  play  and 
run  to  hug  one,  out  of  the  fullness  of  its  heart,  what  could  be 
sweeter  ? 

Then  it  is  only  in  being  constantly  with  them  that  one  can 
study  their  characters.  It  is  the  duty  of  a  mother,  and  one 
which  she  can  depute  to  no  hired  teacher,  to  decipher  the 
tastes,  temper,  and  natural  aptitudes  of  her  children  from 
their  infancy.  All  homebred  children  are  distinguished  by 
ease  of  manner  and  tact,  two  acquired  qualities  which  may  go 
far  to  supply  the  lack  of  natural  ability,  whereas  no  natural 
ability  can  atone  for  the  loss  of  this  early  training.  I  have 
already  learned  to  discriminate  this  difference  of  tone  in  the 
men  whom  I  meet  in  society,  and  to  trace  the  hand  of  a 
woman  in  the  formation  of  a  young  man's  manners.  How 
could  any  woman  defraud  her  children  of  such  a  possession  ? 
You  see  what  rewards  attend  the  performance  of  my  tasks  ? 

Armand,  I  feel  certain,  will  make  an  admirable  judge,  the 
most  upright  of  public  servants,  the  most  devoted  of  deputies. 
And  where  would  you  find  a  sailor  bolder,  more  adventurous, 
more  astute  than  my  Rene  will  be  a  few  years  hence  ?  The 
little  rascal  has  already  an  iron  will,  whatever  he  wants  he 
manages  to  get ;  he  will  try  a  thousand  circuitous  ways  to  reacli 
his  end,  and,  if  not  successful  then,  will  devise  a  thousand  and 
first.  Where  dear  Armand  quietly  resigns  himself  and  tries  to 
get  at  the  reason  of  things,  Rene  will  storm,  and  strive,  and 
puzzle,  chattering  all  the  time,  till  at  last  he  finds  some  chink 
in  the  obstacle ;  if  there  is  room  for  the  blade  of  a  knife  to 
pass,  his  little  carriage  will  ride  through  in  triumph. 

And  NaTs  ?  Na'is  is  so  completely  a  second  self  that  I  can 
hardly  realize  her  as  distinct  from  my  own  flesh  and  blood. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  351 

What  a  darling  she  is,  and  how  I  love  to  make  a  little  lady  of 
her,  to  dress  her  curly  hair,  tender  thoughts  mingling  the 
while  with  every  touch  !  1  must  have  her  happy  \  I  shall  only 
give  her  to  the  man  who  loves  her  and  whom  she  loves.  But, 
heavens !  when  I  let  her  put  on  her  little  ornaments,  or  pass 
a  cherry-colored  ribbon  through  her  hair,  or  fasten  the  shoes 
on  her  tiny  feet,  a  sickening  thought  comes  over  me.  How 
can  one  order  the  destiny  of  a  girl  ?  Who  can  say  that  she 
will  not  love  a  scoundrel  or  some  man  who  is  indifferent  to 
her?  Tears  often  spring  to  my  eyes  as  I  watch  her.  This 
lovely  creature,  this  flower,  this  rosebud  which  has  blossomed 
in  one's  heart,  to  be  handed  over  to  a  man  who  will  tear  it 
from  the  stem  and  leave  it  bare  !  Louise,  it  is  you — you,  who 
in  two  years  have  not  written  three  words  to  tell  me  of  your 
welfare — it  is  you  who  have  recalled  to  my  mind  the  terrible 
possibilities  of  marriage,  so  full  of  anguish  for  a  mother  wrapped 
up,  as  I  am,  in  her  child.  Farewell  now,  for  in  truth  you 
don't  deserve  my  friendship,  and  I  hardly  know  how  to  write. 
Oh  !  answer  me,  my  own  Louise. 


LII. 

MME.    GASTON   TO   MME.    DE  l'eSTORADE. 

The  Chalet. 
So,  after  a  silence  of  two  years,  you  are  pricked  by  curiosity, 
and  want  to  know  why  I  have  not  written.  My  dear  Ren6e, 
there  are  no  words,  no  images,  no  language  to  express  my 
happiness.  That  we  have  strength  to  bear  it  sums  up  all  I 
could  say.  It  costs  us  no  effort,  for  we  are  in  perfect  sympathy. 
The  whole  two  years  have  known  no  note  of  discord  in  the 
harmony,  no  jarring  word  in  the  interchange  of  feeling,  no 
shade  of  difference  in  our  lightest  wish.  Not  one  in  this 
long  succession  of  days  has  failed  to  bear  its  own  peculiar 


352  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

fruit ;  not  a  moment  has  passed  without  being  enriched  by 
the  play  of  fancy.  So  far  are  we  from  dreading  the  danker 
of  monotony  in  our  life,  that  our  only  fear  is  lest  it  should 
not  be  long  enough  to  contain  all  the  poetic  creations  of  a 
love  as  rich  and  varied  in  its  development  as  nature  herself. 
Of  disappointment  not  a  trace !  We  find  more  pleasure  in 
being  together  than  on  the  first  day,  and  each  hour  as  it  goes 
by  discloses  fresh  reason  for  our  love.  Every  day  as  we  take 
our  evening  stroll  after  dinner,  we  tell  each  other  that  we 
really  must  go  and  see  what  is  doing  in  Paris,  just  as  one 
might  talk  of  going  to  Switzerland. 

"Only  think,"  Gaston  will  exclaim,  "such  and  such  a 
boulevard  is  being  made,  the  Madeleine  is  finished.  We  ought 
to  see  it.     Let  us  go  to-morrow." 

And  to-morrow  comes,  and  we  are  in  no  hurry  to  get  up, 
and  we  breakfast  in  our  bedroom.  Then  midday  is  on  us, 
and  it  is  too  hot ;  a  siesta  seems  appropriate.  Then  Gaston 
wishes  to  look  at  me,  and  he  gazes  on  my  face  as  though  it 
were  a  picture,  losing  himself  in  this  contemplation,  which,  as 
you  may  suppose,  is  not  one-sided.  Tears  rise  to  the  eyes  of 
both  as  we  think  of  our  love  and  tremble.  I  am  still  the 
mistress,  pretending,  that  is,  to  give  less  than  I  receive,  and  I 
revel  in  this  deception.  To  a  woman  what  can  be  sweeter 
than  to  see  passion  ever  held  in  check  by  tenderness,  and  the 
man  who  is  her  master  stayed,  like  a  timid  suitor,  by  a  word 
from  her,  within  the  limits  that  she  chooses?  There  is  a  great 
charm  for  women  in  seeing  sentiment  stronger  than  desire. 

You  asked  me  to  describe  him ;  but,  Renee,  it  is  not  possi- 
ble to  make  a  portrait  of  the  man  we  love.  How  could  the 
heart  be  kept  out  of  the  work?  Beside,  to  be  frank  between 
ourselves,  we  may  admit  that  one  of  the  dire  effects  of  civiliza- 
tion on  our  manners  is  to  make  of  man  in  society  a  being  so 
utterly  different  from  the  natural  man  of  strong  feelings,  that 
sometimes  not  a  single  point  of  likeness  can  be  found  between 
these  two  aspects  of  the  same  person.    The  man  who  falls  into 


LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES.  3S3 

the  most  graceful  operatic  poses,  as  he  pours  sweet  nothings 
into  your  ear  by  the  fire  at  night,  may  be  entirely  destitute  of 
those  more  intimate  charms  which  a  woman  values.  On  the 
other  hand,  an  ugly,  boorish,  badly-dressed  figure  may  mark 
a  man  endowed  with  the  very  genius  of  love,  and  who  has  a 
perfect  mastery  over  situations  which  might  baffle  even  us 
with  our  superficial  graces.  A  man  whose  conventional  aspect 
accords  with  his  real  nature,  who,  in  the  intimacy  of  wedded 
love,  possesses  that  inborn  grace  which  can  be  neither  given 
nor  acquired,  but  which  Greek  art  has  embodied  in  statuary, 
that  careless  innocence  of  the  ancient  poets  which,  even  in 
frank  undress,  seems  to  clothe  the  soul  as  with  a  veil  of 
modesty — this  is  our  ideal,  born  of  our  own  conceptions,  and 
linked  with  the  universal  harmony  which  seems  to  be  the 
reality  underlying  all  created  things.  To  find  this  ideal  in 
life  is  the  problem  which  haunts  the  imagination  of  every 
woman — in  Gaston  I  have  found  it. 

Ah !  dear,  I  did  not  know  what  love  could  be,  united  to 
youth,  talent,  and  beauty.  Gaston  has  no  affectation,  he 
moves  with  an  instinctive  and  unstudied  grace.  When  we 
walk  alone  together  in  the  woods,  his  arm  round  my  waist, 
mine  resting  on  his  shoulder,  body  fitted  to  body,  and  head 
touching  head,  our  step  is  so  even,  uniform,  and  gentle,  that 
tliose  wlio  see  us  pass  by  night  take  the  vision  for  a  single 
figure  gliding  over  the  graveled  walks,  like  one  of  Homer's 
immortals.  A  like  harmony  exists  in  our  desires,  our  thoughts, 
our  words.  More  than  once  on  some  evening  when  a  passing 
shower  has  left  the  leaves  glistening  and  the  moist  grass  bright 
with  a  more  vivid  green,  it  has  chanced  that  we  ended  our 
walk  without  uttering  a  word,  as  we  listened  to  the  patter  of 
falling  drops  and  feasted  our  eyes  on  the  scarlet  sunset,  flaring 
on  the  hilltops  or  dyeing  with  a  warmer  tone  the  gray  of  the 
tree-trunks. 

Beyond  a  doubt  our  thoughts  then  rose  to  heaven  in  silent 
prayer,  pleading,  as  it  were,  for  our  happiness.     At  times  a 


354  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

cry  wouid  escape  us  at  the  moment  when  some  sudden  bend 
on  the  path  opened  up  fresh  beauties.  What  words  can  tell 
how  honey-sweet,  how  full  of  meaning,  is  a  kiss  half-timidly 
exchanged  within  the  sanctuary  of  nature — it  is  as  though 
God  had  created  us  to  worship  in  this  fashion.  And  we  re- 
turn home,  loving  each  other  better,  always  better. 

A  love  so  passionate  between  old  married  people  would  be 
an  outrage  on  society  in  Paris  ]  only  in  the  heart  of  the  woods, 
like  lovers,  can  we  give  scope  to  it. 

To  come  to  particulars,  Gaston  is  of  middle  height — the 
height  proper  to  all  men  of  purpose.  Neither  stout  nor  thin, 
his  figure  is  admirably  made,  with  ample  fullness  in  the  pro- 
portions, while  every  motion  is  agile ;  he  leaps  a  ditch  with 
the  easy  grace  of  a  wild  animal.  Whatever  his  attitude,  he 
seems  to  have  an  instinctive  sense  of  balance,  and  this  is  very 
rare  in  men  who  are  given  to  thought.  Though  a  dark  man, 
he  has  an  extraordinarily  fair  complexion  ;  his  jet-black  hair 
contrasts  finely  with  the  lustreless  tints  of  the  neck  and  fore- 
head. He  has  the  tragic  head  of  Louis  XIII.  His  mustache 
and  tuft  have  been  allowed  to  grow,  but  I  made  him  shave 
the  whiskers  and  beard,  which  were  getting  too  common. 
An  honorable  poverty  has  been  his  safeguard,  and  handed 
him  over  to  me,  unsoiled  by  the  loose  life  which  ruins  so 
many  young  men.  His  teeth  are  magnificent,  and  he  has  a 
constitution  of  iron.  His  keen  blue  eyes,  for  me  full  of  ten- 
derness, will  flash  like  lightning  at  any  rousing  thought. 

Like  all  men  of  strong  character  and  powerful  mind,  he  has 
an  admirable  temper ;  its  evenness  would  surprise  you,  as  it 
did  me.  I  have  listened  to  the  tale  of  many  a  woman's  home 
troubles ;  I  have  heard  of  the  moods  and  depression  of  men 
dissatisfied  with  themselves,  who  either  won't  get  old  or  age 
ungracefully,  men  who  carry  about  through  life  the  rankling 
memory  of  some  youthful  excess,  whose  veins  run  poison 
and  whose  eyes  are  never  frankly  happy,  men  who  cloak  sus- 
picion under  bad  temper,  and  make  their  women  pay  for  an 


LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES.  355 

hour's  peace  by  a  morning  of  annoyance,  who  take  vengeance 
on  us  for  a  beauty  which  is  hateful  to  them  because  they  have 
ceased  themselves  to  be  attractive — all  these  are  horrors  un- 
known to  youth.  They  are  the  penalty  of  unequal  unions. 
Oh  !  my  dear,  whatever  you  do,  marry  Athenais  to  none  but 
a  young  man  ! 

But  his  smile — how  I  feast  on  it !  A  smile  which  is  always 
there,  yet  always  fresh  through  the  play  of  subtle  fancy,  a 
speaking  smile  which  makes  of  the  lips  a  storehouse  for 
thoughts  of  love  and  unspoken  gratitude,  a  smile  which  links 
present  joys  to  past.  For  nothing  is  allowed  to  drop  out  of 
our  common  life.  The  smallest  works  of  nature  have  become 
part  and  parcel  of  our  joy.  In  these  delightful  woods  every- 
thing is  alive  and  eloquent  of  ourselves.  An  old  moss-grown 
oak,  near  the  woodman's  house  on  the  roadside,  reminds  us 
how  we  sat  there,  wearied,  under  its  shade,  while  Gaston 
taught  me  about  the  mosses  at  our  feet  and  told  me  their 
story,  till,  gradually  ascending  from  science  to  science,  we 
touched  the  very  confines  of  creation. 

There  is  something  so  kindred  in  our  minds  that  they  seem 
to  me  like  two  editions  of  the  same  book.  You  see  what  a 
literary  tendency  I  have  developed  !  We  both  have  the  habit, 
or  the  gift,  of  looking  at  every  subject  broadly,  of  taking  in 
all  its  points  of  view,  and  the  proof  we  are  constantly  giving 
ourselves  of  the  singleness  of  our  inward  vision  is  an  ever-new 
pleasure.  We  have  actually  come  to  look  on  this  community 
of  mind  as  a  pledge  of  love  ;  and  if  it  ever  failed  us,  it  would 
mean  as  much  to  us  as  would  a  breach  of  fidelity  in  an  ordi- 
nary home. 

My  life,  full  as  it  is  of  pleasures,  would  seem  to  you,  never- 
theless, extremely  laborious.  To  begin  with,  my  dear,  you 
must  know  that  Louise-Armande-Marie  de  Chaulieu  does  her 
own  room.  I  could  not  bear  that  a  hired  menial,  some 
woman  or  girl  from  the  outside,  should  become  initiated — 
literary  touch  again  ! — into  the  secrets  of  my  bedroom.     The 


356  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

veriest  trifles  connected  with  the  worship  of  my  heart  partake 
of  its  sacred  character.  This  is  not  jealousy ;  it  is  self-respect. 
Thus  my  room  is  done  out  with  all  the  care  a  young  girl  in 
love  bestows  on  her  person,  and  with  the  precision  of  an  old 
maid.  My  dressing-room  is  no  chaos  of  litter;  on  the  con- 
trary, it  makes  a  charming  boudoir.  My  keen  eye  has  fore- 
seen all  contingencies.  At  whatever  hour  the  lord  and  master 
enters,  he  will  find  nothing  to  distress,  surprise,  or  shock  him ; 
he  is  greeted  by  flowers,  perfume,  elegance,  and  everything 
that  can  charm  the  eye. 

I  get  up  in  the  early  dawn,  while  he  is  still  sleeping,  and, 
without  disturbing  him,  pass  into  the  dressing-room,  where, 
profiting  by  my  mother's  experience,  I  remove  the  traces  of 
sleep  by  bathing  in  cold  water.  For  during  sleep  the  skin, 
being  less  active,  does  not  perform  its  functions  adequately ; 
it  becomes  warm  and  covered  with  a  sort  of  mist  or  atmos- 
phere of  sticky  matter,  visible  to  the  eye.  From  a  sponge-bath 
a  woman  issues  forth  ten  years  younger,  and  this,  perhaps,  is 
the  interpretation  of  the  myth  of  Venus  rising  from  the  sea. 
So  the  cold  water  restores  to  me  the  saucy  charm  of  dawn, 
and,  having  combed  and  scented  my  hair  and  made  a  most 
fastidious  toilet,  I  glide  back,  snake-like,  in  order  that  my 
master  may  find  me,  dainty  as  a  spring  morning,  at  his  waken- 
ing. He  is  charmed  with  this  freshness,  as  of  a  newly  opened 
flower,  without  having  the  least  idea  how  it  is  produced. 

The  regular  toilet  of  the  day  is  a  matter  for  my  maid,  and 
this  takes  place  later  in  a  larger  room,  set  aside  for  the  purpose. 
As  you  may  suppose,  there  is  also  a  toilet  for  going  to  bed. 
Three  times  a  day,  you  see,  or  it  may  be  four,  do  I  array  my- 
self for  the  delight  of  my  husband  ;  which,  again,  dear  one, 
is  suggestive  of  certain  ancient  myths. 

But  our  work  is  not  all  play.  We  take  a  great  deal  of  in- 
terest in  our  flowers,  in  the  beauties  of  the  hot-house,  and  in 
our  trees.  We  give  ourselves  in  all  seriousness  to  horticulture, 
and  embosom  the  chalet  in  flowers,  of  which  we  are  passion- 


LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES.  367 

ately  fond.  Our  lawns  are  always  green,  our  shrubberies  as 
well  tended  as  those  of  a  millionaire.  And  nothing,  I  assure 
you,  can  match  the  beauty  of  our  walled  garden.  We  are 
regular  gluttons  over  our  fruit,  and  watch  with  tender  interest 
our  Montreuil  peaches,  our  hotbeds,  our  laden  wall-fruit,  and 
pyramidal  pear-trees. 

But  lest  these  rural  pursuits  should  fail  to  satisfy  my 
beloved's  mind,  I  have  advised  him  to  finish,  in  the  quiet  of 
this  retreat,  some  plays  which  were  begun  in  his  starvation 
days,  and  which  are  really  very  fine.  This  is  the  only  kind 
of  literary  work  which  can  be  done  in  odd  moments,  for  it 
requires  long  intervals  of  reflection,  and  does  not  demand 
the  elaborate  pruning  essential  to  a  finished  style.  One  can't 
make  a  task-work  of  dialogue ;  there  must  be  biting  touches, 
summings-up,  and  flashes  of  wit,  which  are  the  blossoms  of  the 
mind,  and  come  rather  by  inspiration  than  reflection.  This 
sort  of  intellectual  sport  is  very  much  in  my  line.  I  assist 
Gaston  in  his  work,  and  in  this  way  manage  to  accompany 
him  even  in  the  boldest  flights  of  his  imagination.  Do  you 
see  now  how  it  is  that  my  winter  evenings  never  drag  or  be- 
come wearisome  ? 

Our  servants  have  such  an  easy  time,  that  never  once  since 
we  were  married  have  we  had  to  reprimand  any  of  them. 
When  questioned  about  us,  they  have  had  wit  enough  to  draw 
on  their  imaginations,  and  have  given  us  out  as  the  companion 
and  secretary  of  a  lady  and  gentleman  supposed  to  be  travel- 
ing. They  never  go  out  without  asking  permission,  which 
they  know  will  not  be  refused ;  they  are  contented  too,  and 
see  plainly  that  it  will  be  their  own  fault  if  there  is  a  change 
for  the  worse.  The  gardeners  are  allowed  to  sell  the  surplus 
of  our  fruit  and  vegetables.  The  dairymaid  does  the  same 
with  the  milk,  the  cream,  and  the  fresh  butter  on  condition 
that  the  best  of  the  produce  is  reserved  for  us.  They  are 
well  pleased  with  their  profits,  and  we  are  delighted  with  an 
abundance  which  no  money  and  no  ingenuity  can  procure  in 


358  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

that  terrible  Paris,  where  it  costs  the  interest  of  a  hundred 
francs  to  produce  a  single  fine  peach. 

All  this  is  not  without  its  meaning,  my  dear.  I  wish  to  fill 
the  place  of  society  to  my  husband  ;  now  society  is  amusing, 
and  therefore  his  solitude  must  not  be  allowed  to  pall  on  him. 
I  believed  myself  jealous  in  the  old  days,  when  I  merely 
allowed  myself  to  be  loved ;  now  I  know  real  jealousy,  the 
jealousy  of  the  lover.  A  single  indifferent  glance  unnerves 
me.  From  time  to  time  I  say  to  myself:  *'  Suppose  he  ceased 
to  love  me  !  "  And  a  shudder  goes  through  me.  I  tremble 
before  him,  as  the  Christian  before  his  God. 

Alas !  Renee,  I  am  still  without  a  child.  The  time  will 
surely  come — it  must  come — when  our  hermitage  will  need  a 
father's  and  a  mother's  care  to  brighten  it,  when  we  shall 
both  pine  to  see  the  little  frocks  and  pelisses,  the  brown  or 
golden  heads,  leaping,  running  through  our  shrubberies  and 
flowery  paths.  Oh  !  it  is  a  cruel  jest  of  nature's,  a  flowering 
tree  that  bears  no  fruit.  The  thought  of  your  lovely  children 
goes  through  me  like  a  knife.  My  life  has  grown  narrow, 
while  yours  has  expanded  and  shed  its  rays  afar.  The  passion 
of  love  is  essentially  selfish,  while  motherhood  widens  the 
circle  of  our  feelings.  How  well  I  felt  this  difference  when 
I  read  your  kind,  tender  letter  !  To  see  you  thus  living  in 
three  hearts  roused  my  envy.  Yes,  you  are  happy  ;  you  have 
had  wisdom  to  obey  the  laws  of  social  life,  whilst  I  stand  out- 
side, an  alien. 

Children,  dear  and  loving  children,  can  alone  console  a 
woman  for  the  loss  of  her  beauty.  I  shall  soon  be  thirty,  and 
at  that  age  the  dirge  within  begins.  What  though  I  am  still 
beautiful,  the  limits  of  my  woman's  reign  are  none  the  less  in 
sight.  When  they  are  reached,  what  then  ?  I  shall  be  forty 
before  he  is ;  I  shall  be  old  while  he  is  still  young.  When 
this  thought  goes  to  my  heart,  I  lie  at  his  feet  for  an  hour  at 
a  time,  making  him  swear  to  tell  me  instantly  if  ever  he  feels 
his  love  diminishing. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  359 

But  he  is  a  child.  He  swears,  as  though  the  mere  sugges- 
tion were  an  absurdity,  and  he  is  so  beautiful  that — Renee,  you 
understand — I  believe  him. 

Adieu,  my  angel.  Shall  we  ever  again  let  years  pass  without 
writing?  Happiness  is  a  monotonous  theme,  and  that  is, 
perhaps,  the  reason  why,  to  souls  who  love,  Dante  appears 
even  greater  in  the  Paradiso  than  in  the  Inferno.  I  am  not 
Dante;  I  am  only  your  friend,  and  I  don't  want  to  bore  you. 
You  can  write,  for  in  your  children  you  have  an  ever-growing, 

ever-varying  source  of  happiness,  while  mine No  more 

of  this.     A  thousand  loves. 


LIII. 

MME.    DE   l'eSTORADE   TO   MME.    GASTON. 

My  dear  Louise  : — I  have  read  and  re-read  your  letter,  and 
the  more  deeply  I  enter  into  its  spirit,  the  clearer  does  it  be- 
come to  me  that  it  is  the  letter,  not  of  a  woman,  but  of  a 
child.  You  are  the  same  old  Louise,  and  you  forget,  what  I 
used  to  repeat  over  and  over  again  to  you,  that  the  passion  of 
love  belongs  rightly  to  a  state  of  nature,  and  has  only  been 
purloined  by  civilization.  So  fleeting  is  its  character  that  the 
resources  of  society  are  powerless  to  modify  its  primitive  con- 
dition, and  it  becomes  the  effort  of  all  noble  minds  to  make  a 
man  of  the  infant  Cupid.  But,  as  you  yourself  admit,  such 
love  ceases  to  be  natural. 

Society,  my  dear,  abhors  sterility ;  by  substituting  a  lasting 
sentiment  for  the  mere  passing  frenzy  of  nature,  it  has  suc- 
ceeded in  creating  that  greatest  of  all  human  inventions — the 
Family,  which  is  the  enduring  basis  of  all  organized  society. 
To  the  accomplishment'  of  this  end,  it  has  sacrificed  the  in- 
dividual, man  as  well  as  woman ;  for  we  must  not  shut  our 
eyes  to  the  fact  that  a  married  man  devotes  his  energy,  his 
power,  and  all  his  possessions  to  his  wife,     is  it  not  she  who 


360  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

reaps  the  benefit  of  all  his  care  ?  For  whom,  if  not  for  her, 
are  the  luxury  and  wealth,  the  position  and  distinction,  the 
comfort  and  the  gayety  of  the  home? 

Oh  !  my  sweet,  once  again  you  have  taken  the  wrong  turn- 
ing in  life.  To  be  adored  is  a  young  girl's  dream,  which  may 
survive  a  few  springtimes;  it  cannot  be  that  of  the  mature 
woman,  the  wife  and  mother.  To  a  woman's  vanity  it  is, 
perhaps,  enough  to  know  that  she  can  command  adoration  if 
she  likes.  If  you  would  live  the  life  of  a  wife  and  mother, 
return,  I  beg  of  you,  to  Paris.  Let  me  repeat  my  warning : 
It  is  not  misfortune  which  you  have  to  dread,  as  others  do — 
it  is  happiness. 

Listen  to  me,  my  child  1  It  is  the  simple  things  of  life — 
bread,  air,  silence — of  which  we  do  not  tire ;  they  have  no 
piquancy  which  can  create  distaste ;  it  is  highly  flavored  dishes 
which  irritate  the  palate,  and  in  the  end  exhaust  it.  Were  it 
possible  that  I  should  to-day  be  loved  by  a  man  for  whom  I 
could  conceive  a  passion,  such  as  yours  for  Gaston,  I  would 
still  cling  to  the  duties  and  the  children,  who  are  so  dear  to 
me.  To  a  woman's  heart  the  feelings  of  a  mother  are  among 
the  simple,  natural,  fruitful,  and  inexhaustible  things  of  life. 
I  can  recall  the  day,  now  nearly  fourteen  years  ago,  when  I 
embarked  on  a  life  of  self-sacrifice  with  the  despair  of  a  ship- 
wrecked mariner  clinging  to  the  mast  of  his  vessel ;  now,  as  I 
invoke  the  memory  of  past  years,  I  feel  that  I  would  make  the 
same  choice  again.  No  other  guiding  principle  is  so  safe,  or 
leads  to  such  rich  reward.  The  spectacle  of  your  life,  which, 
for  all  the  romance  and  poetry  with  which  you  invest  it,  still 
remains  based  on  nothing  but  a  ruthless  selfishness,  has  helped 
to  strengthen  my  convictions.  This  is  the  last  time  I  shall 
speak  to  you  in  this  way ;  but  I  could  not  refrain  from  once 
more  pleading  with  you  when  I  found  that  your  happiness  had 
been  proof  against  the  most  searching  of  all  trials. 

And  one  more  point  I  must  urge  on  you,  suggested  by  my 
meditations  on  your  retirement.     Life,  whether  of  the  body 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  861 

or  the  heart,  consists  in  certain  balanced  movements.  Any 
excess  introduced  into  the  working  of  this  routine  gives  rise 
either  to  pain  or  to  pleasure,  both  of  which  are  a  mere  fever 
of  the  soul,  bound  to  be  fugitive  because  nature  is  not  so 
framed  as  to  support  it  long.  But  to  make  of  life  one  long 
excess  is  surely  to  choose  sickness  for  one's  portion.  You  are 
sick  because  you  maintain  at  the  temperature  of  passion  a 
feeling  which  marriage  ought  to  convert  into  a  steadying, 
purifying  influence. 

Yes,  my  sweet,  I  see  it  clearly  now ;  the  glory  of  a  home 
consists  in  this  very  calm,  this  intimacy,  this  sharing  alike  of 
good  and  evil,  which  the  vulgar  ridicule.  How  noble  was  the 
reply  of  the  Duchesse  de  Sully,  the  wife  of  the  great  Sully,  to 
some  one  who  remarked  that  her  husband,  for  all  his  grave 
exterior,  did  not  scruple  to  keep  a  mistress.  **  What  of  that?" 
she  said.  "I  represent  the  honor  of  the  house,  and  should 
decline  to  play  the  part  of  a  courtesan  there." 

But  you,  Louise,  who  are  naturally  more  passionate  than 
tender,  would  be  at  once  the  wife  and  the  mistress.  With  the 
soul  of  a  Heloise  and  the  passions  of  a  Saint  Theresa,  you 
slip  the  leash  on  all  your  impulses,  so  long  as  they  are  sanc- 
tioned by  the  law ;  in  a  word,  you  degrade  the  marriage  rite. 
Surely  the  tables  are  turned.  The  reproaches  you  once  heaped 
on  me  for  immorally,  as  you  said,  seizing  the  means  of  happi- 
ness from  the  very  outset  of  my  wedded  life,  might  be  directed 
against  yourself  for  grasping  at  everything  which  may  serve 
your  passion.  What !  must  nature  and  society  alike  be  in 
bondage  to  your  caprice  ?  You  are  the  old  Louise ;  you  have 
never  acquired  the  qualities  which  ought  to  be  a  woman's ; 
self-willed  and  unreasonable  as  a  girl,  you  introduce  withal 
into  your  love  the  keenest  and  most  mercenary  of  calcula- 
tions !  Are  you  sure  that,  after  all,  the  price  you  ask  for  your 
toilets  is  not  too  high  ?  All  these  precautions  are  to  my  mind 
very  suggestive  of  mistrust. 

Oh,  dear   Louise,   if  only  you  knew  the  sweetness  of  a 


362  LETTEHS   OF  TfVO  BRIDES. 

mother's  efforts  to  discipline  herself  in  kindness  and  gentle- 
ness to  all  about  her !  My  proud,  self-sufl&cing  temper  grad- 
ually dissolved  into  a  soft  melancholy,  which  in  turn  has  been 
swallowed  up  by  those  delights  of  motherhood  which  have 
been  its  reward.  If  the  early  hours  were  toilsome,  the  evening 
will  be  tranquil  and  clear.  My  dread  is  lest  the  day  of  your 
life  should  take  the  opposite  course. 

When  I  had  read  your  letter  to  a  close,  I  prayed  God  to 
send  you  among  us  for  a  day,  that  you  might  see  what  family 
life  really  is,  and  learn  the  nature  of  those  joys  which  are 
lasting  and  sweeter  than  tongue  can  tell,  because  they  are 
genuine,  simple,  and  natural.  But,  alas  !  what  chance  have  I 
with  the  best  of  arguments  against  a  fallacy  which  makes  you 
happy?  As  I  write  these  words,  my  eyes  fill  with  tears.  I 
had  felt  so  sure  that  some  months  of  honeymoon  would  prove 
a  surfeit  and  restore  you  to  reason.  But  I  see  that  there  is  no 
limit  to  your  appetite,  and  that,  having  killed  a  man,  you 
will  not  cease  till  you  have  killed  love  itself.  Farewell,  dear 
misguided  friend.  I  am  in  despair  that  the  letter  which  I 
hoped  might  reconcile  you  to  society  by  its  picture  of  my 
happiness  should  have  brought  forth  only  a  paean  of  selfishness. 
Yes,  your  love  is  selfish ;  you  love  Gaston  far  less  for  himself 
than  for  what  he  is  to  you. 


LIV. 

MME.    GASTON   TO   THE   COMTESSE   DE   l'eSTORADE. 

May  20th. 

Ren6e,  calamity  has  come — no,  that  is  no  word  for  it — it 
has  burst  like  a  thunderbolt  over  your  poor  Louise.  You 
know  what  that  means ;  calamity  for  me  is  doubt;  certainty 
would  be  death. 

The  day  before  yesterday,  when  I  had  finished  my  first  toilet, 
I  looked  everywhere  for  Gaston  to  take  a  little  turn  with  me 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES,  368 

before  lunch,  but  in  vain.  I  went  to  the  stable,  and  there  I 
saw  his  mare  all  in  a  lather,  while  the  groom  was  scraping  off 
the  foam  before  rubbing  her  down. 

"Who  in  the  world  has  put  Fedelta  in  such  a  state?"  I 
asked. 

"Master,"  replied  the  lad. 

I  saw  the  mud  of  Paris  on  the  mare's  legs,  for  country  mud 
is  quite  different ;  and  at  once  it  flashed  through  me :  "  He 
has  been  to  Paris." 

This  thought  raised  a  swarm  of  others  in  my  heart,  and  it 
seemed  as  though  all  the  life  in  my  body  rushed  there.  To 
go  to  Paris  without  telling  me,  at  the  hour  when  I  leave  hira 
alone,  to  hasten  there  and  back  at  such  speed  as  to  distress 
Fedelta.  Suspicion  clutched  me  in  its  iron  grip,  till  I  could 
hardly  breathe.  I  walked  aside  a  few  steps  to  a  seat,  where  I 
tried  to  recover  my  self-command. 

Here  Gaston  found  me,  apparently  pale  and  fluttered,  for 
he  immediately  exclaimed:  "What  is  wrong?"  in  a  tone  of 
such  alarm,  that  I  rose  and  took  his  arm.  But  my  muscles 
refused  to  move,  and  I  was  forced  to  sit  down  again.  Then 
he  took  me  in  his  arms  and  carried  me  to  the  parlor  close  by, 
where  the  frightened  servants  pressed  after  us,  till  Gaston 
motioned  them  away.  Once  left  to  ourselves,  I  refused  to 
speak,  but  was  able  to  reach  my  room,  where  I  shut  myself 
in,  to  weep  my  fill.  Gaston  remained  something  like  two 
hours  at  my  door,  listening  to  my  sobs  and  questioning  with 
angelic  patience  his  poor  darling,  who  made  no  response. 

At  last  I  told  him  that  I  would  see  him  when  my  eyes  were 
less  red  and  my  voice  was  steady  again. 

My  formal  words  drove  him  from  the  house.  But  by  the 
time  I  had  bathed  my  eyes  in  iced  water  and  cooled  my  face, 
I  found  him  in  our  room,  the  door  into  which  was  open, 
though  I  had  heard  no  steps.  He  begged  me  to  tell  him  what 
was  wrong. 

"  Nothing,"  I  said ;  "  I  saw  the  mud  of  Paris  on  Fedelta's 


364  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

trembling  legs ;  it  seemed  strange  that  you  should  go  there 
without  telling  me;  but,  of  course,  you  are  free." 

"  I  shall  punish  you  for  such  wicked  thoughts  by  not  giving 
any  explanation  till  to-morrow,"  he  replied. 

"  Look  at  me,"  I  said. 

My  eyes  met  his ;  deep  answered  to  deep.  No,  not  a  trace 
of  the  cloud  of  disloyalty  which,  rising  from  the  soul,  must 
dim  the  clearness  of  the  eye.  I  feigned  satisfaction,  though 
really  unconvinced.  It  is  not  women  only  who  can  lie  and 
dissemble ! 

The  whole  of  the  day  we  spent  together.  Ever  and  again, 
as  I  looked  at  him,  I  realized  how  fast  my  heart-strings  were 
bound  to  him.  How  I  trembled  and  fluttered  within  when, 
after  a  moment's  absence,  he  reappeared.  I  live  in  him,  not 
in  myself.  My  cruel  sufferings  gave  the  lie  to  your  unkind 
letter.  Did  I  ever  feel  my  life  thus  bound  up  in  the  noble 
Spaniard,  who  adored  me,  as  I  adore  this  heartless  boy  ?  I 
hate  that  mare !  Fool  that  I  was  to  keep  horses  !  But  the 
next  thing  would  have  been  to  lame  Gaston  or  imprison  him 
in  the  cottage.  Wild  thoughts  like  these  filled  my  brain; 
you  see  how  near  I  was  to  madness !  If  love  be  not  the 
cage,  what  power  on  earth  can  hold  back  the  man  who 
wants  to  be  free  ? 

I  asked  him  point-blank :  "  Do  I  bore  you?  " 

"What  needless  torture  you  give  yourself!  "  was  his  reply, 
while  he  looked  at  me  with  tender,  pitying  eyes.  "Never 
have  I  loved  you  so  deeply." 

"If  that  is  true,  my  beloved,  let  me  sell  Fedelta,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"Sell  her,  by  all  means!" 

The  reply  crushed  me.  Was  it  not  a  covert  taunt  at  my 
wealth  and  his  own  nothingness  in  the  house?  This  may 
never  have  occurred  to  him,  but  I  thought  it  had,  and  once 
more  I  left  him.     It  was  night,  and  I  would  go  to  bed. 

Oh  !  Renee,  to  be  alone  with  a  harrowing  thought  drives 


LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES.  365 

one  to  thoughts  of  death.  These  charming  gardens,  the  starry 
night,  the  cool  air,  laden  with  incense  from  our  wealth  of 
flowers,  our  valley,  our  hills — all  seemed  to  me  gloomy,  black, 
and  desolate.  It  was  as  though  I  lay  at  the  foot  of  a  precipice, 
surrounded  by  serpents  and  poisonous  plants,  and  saw  no  God 
in  the  sky.     Such  a  night  ages  a  woman. 

Next  morning  I  said — 

"  Take  Fedelta  and  be  off  to  Paris  !  Don't  sell  her ;  I  love 
her.     Does  she  not  carry  you?  " 

But  he  was  not  deceived;  my  tone  betrayed  the  storm  of 
feeling  which  I  strove  to  conceal. 

"Trust  me!"  he  replied;  and  the  gesture  with  which  he 
held  out  his  hand,  the  glance  of  his  eye,  were  so  full  of  loyalty 
that  I  was  overcome. 

"  What  petty  creatures  women  are  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  No,  you  love  me,  that  is  all,"  he  said,  pressing  me  to  his 
heart. 

"Go  to  Paris  without  me,"  I  said,  and  this  time  I  made 
him  understand  that  my  suspicions  were  laid  aside. 

He  went ;  I  thought  he  would  have  stayed.  I  won't  attempt 
to  tell  you  what  I  suffered.  I  found  a  second  self  within, 
quite  strange  to  me.  A  crisis  like  this  has,  for  the  woman 
who  loves,  a  tragic  solemnity  that  baffles  words ;  the  whole  of 
life  rises  before  you  then,  and  you  search  in  vain  for  any 
horizon  to  it ;  the  veriest  trifle  is  big  with  meaning,  a  glance 
contains  a  volume,  icicles  drift  on  uttered  words,  and  the 
death-sentence  is  read  in  a  movement  of  the  lips. 

I  thought  he  would  have  paid  me  back  in  kind ;  had  I  not 
been  magnanimous?  I  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  chalet,  and 
my  eyes  followed  him  on  the  road.  Ah  !  my  dear  Ren^e,  he 
vanished  from  my  sight  with  an  appalling  swiftness  ! 

"  How  keen  he  is  to  go  !  "  was  the  thought  that  sprang  of 
itself. 

Once  more  alone,  I  fell  back  into  the  hell  of  possibilities, 
the  maelstrom  of  mistrust.     There  were  moments  when  I  would 


366  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES."- 

have  welcomed  any  certainty,  even  the  worst,  as  a  relief  from 
the  torture  of  suspense.  Suspense  is  a  duel  carried  on  in  the 
heart,  and  we  give  no  quarter  to  ourselves. 

I  paced  up  and  down  the  walks.  I  returned  to  the  house, 
only  to  tear  out  again,  like  a  mad  woman.  Gaston,  who  left 
at  seven  o'clock,  did  not  return  till  eleven.  Now,  as  it  only 
takes  half  an  hour  to  reach  Paris  through  the  park  of  St.  Cloud 
and  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  it  is  plain  that  he  must  have  spent 
three  hours  in  town.  He  came  back  radiant,  with  a  whip  in 
his  hand  for  me,  an  india-rubber  whip  with  a  gold  handle. 

For  the  last  two  weeks  I  had  been  without  a  whip,  my  old 
one  being  worn  and  broken. 

"Was  it  for  this  you  tortured  me?"  I  said,  as  I  admired 
the  workmanship  of  this  beautiful  ornament,  which  contains  a 
little  vinaigrette  at  one  end. 

Then  it  flashed  on  me  that  the  present  was  a  fresh  artifice. 
Nevertheless  I  threw  myself  at  once  on  his  neck,  not  without 
reproaching  him  gently  for  having  caused  me  so  much  pain 
for  the  sake  of  a  trifle.  He  was  greatly  pleased  with  his  in- 
genuity ;  his  eyes  and  his  whole  bearing  plainly  showed  the 
restrained  triumph  of  the  successful  plotter;  for  there  is  a 
radiance  of  the  soul  which  is  reflected  in  every  feature  and 
turn  of  the  body.  While  still  examining  the  beauties  of  this 
work  of  art,  I  asked  him  at  a  moment  when  we  happened  to 
be  looking  each  other  in  the  face — 

"Who  is  the  artist?" 

"A  friend  of  mine." 

"  Ah  !  I  see  it  has  been  mounted  by  Verdier,"  and  I  read 
the  name  of  the  store  printed  on  the  handle. 

Gaston  is  nothing  but  a  child  yet.  He  blushed,  and  I 
made  much  of  him  as  a  reward  for  the  shame  he  felt  in  de- 
ceiving me.  I  pretended  to  notice  nothing,  and  he  may  well 
have  thought  the  incident  was  over. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  367 

May  2$tk. 

The  next  morning  I  was  in  my  riding-habit  by  six  o'clock, 
and  by  seven  landed  at  Verdier's,  where  several  whips  of  the 
same  pattern  were  shown  me.  One  of  the  men  serving  recog- 
nized mine  when  I  pointed  it  out  to  him. 

"We  sold  that  yesterday  to  a  young  gentleman,"  he  said. 
And  from  the  description  I  gave  him  of  my  traitor  Gaston, 
not  a  doubt  was  left  of  his  identity.  I  will  spare  you  the  pal- 
pitations which  rent  my  heart  during  that  journey  to  Paris 
and  the  little  scene  there,  which  marked  the  turning-point  of 
my  life. 

By  half-past  seven  I  was  home  again,  and  Gaston  found  me, 
fresh  and  blooming,  in  my  morning  dress,  sauntering  about 
with  a  make-believe  nonchalance.  I  felt  confident  that  old 
Philippe,  who  had  been  taken  into  my  confidence,  would  not 
have  betrayed  my  absence. 

"Gaston,"  I  said,  as  we  walked  by  the  side  of  the  lake, 
"  you  cannot  blind  me  to  the  difference  between  a  work  of 
art  inspired  by  friendship  and  something  which  has  been  cast 
in  a  mould." 

He  turned  white,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  me  rather  than  on 
the  damaging  piece  of  evidence  I  thrust  before  them. 

"  My  dear,"  I  went  on,  "  this  is  not  a  whip ;  it  is  a  screen 
behind  which  you  are  hiding  something  from  me." 

Thereupon  I  gave  myself  the  gratification  of  watching  his 
hopeless  entanglement  in  the  coverts  and  labyrinths  of  deceit 
and  the  desperate  efforts  he  made  to  find  some  wall  he  might 
scale  and  thus  escape.  In  vain  ;  he  had  perforce  to  remain 
upon  the  field,  face  to  face  with  an  adversary,  who  at  last  laid 
down  her  arms  in  a  feigned  complacence.  But  it  was  too 
late.  The  fatal  mistake,  against  which  my  mother  had  tried 
to  warn  me,  was  made.  My  jealousy,  exposed  in  all  its 
nakedness,  had  led  to  war  and  all  its  stratagems  between 
Gaston  and  myself.  Jealousy,  dear,  has  neither  sense  nor 
decency. 


368  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

I  made  up  my  mind  now  to  suffer  in  silence,  but  to  keep 
my  eyes  open,  until  my  doubts  were  resolved  one  way  or  an- 
other. Then  I  would  either  break  with  Gaston  or  bow  to  my 
misfortune :  no  middle  course  is  possible  for  a  woman  who 
respects  herself. 

What  can  he  be  concealing  ?  For  a  secret  there  is,  and  the 
secret  has  to  do  with  a  woman.  Is  it  some  youthful  escapade 
for  which  he  still  blushes  ?  But  if  so,  what  ?  The  word  what 
is  written  in  letters  of  fire  on  all  I  see.  I  read  it  in  the  glassy 
water  of  my  lake,  in  the  shrubbery,  in  the  clouds,  on  the 
ceilings,  at  table,  in  the  flowers  of  the  carpets.  A  voice  cries 
to  me  WHAT  ?  in  my  sleep.  Dating  from  the  morning  of  my 
discovery,  a  cruel  interest  has  sprung  into  our  lives,  and  I 
have  become  familiar  with  the  bitterest  thought  that  can  cor- 
rode the  heart — the  thought  of  treachery  in  him  one  loves. 
Oh  !  my  dear,  there  is  heaven  and  hell  together  in  such  a  life. 
Never  had  I  felt  this  scorching  flame,  I  to  whom  love  had 
appeared  only  in  the  form  of  devoutest  worship. 

**  So  you  wished  to  know  the  gloomy  torture-chamber  of 
pain!"  I  said  to  myself.  "Good,  the  spirits  of  evil  have 
heard  your  prayer ;  go  on  your  road,  unhappy  wretch  ! ' ' 

May  yitk. 

Since  that  fatal  day  Gaston  no  longer  works  with  the  care- 
less ease  of  the  wealthy  artist,  whose  work  is  merely  pastime ; 
he  sets  himself  tasks  like  a  professional  writer.  Four  hours  a 
day  he  devotes  to  finishing  his  two  plays. 

"  He  wants  money  !  " 

A  voice  within  whispered  the  thought.  But  why?  He 
spends  next  to  nothing ;  we  have  absolutely  no  secrets  from 
each  other ;  there  is  not  a  corner  of  his  study  which  my  eyes 
and  my  fingers  may  not  explore.  His  yearly  expenditure 
does  not  amount  to  two  thousand  francs,  and  I  know  that  he 
has  thirty  thousand,  I  can  hardly  say  laid  by,  but  scattered 
loose  in  a  drawer.     You  can  guess  what  is  coming.     At  mid- 


LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES.  369 

night,  while  he  was  sleeping,  I  went  to  see  if  the  money  was 
still  there.  An  icy  shiver  ran  through  me.  The  drawer  was 
empty. 

That  same  week  I  discovered  that  he  went  to  Sdvres  to 
fetch  his  letters,  and  these  letters  he  must  tear  up  immediately ; 
for  though  I  am  a  very  Figaro  in  contrivances,  I  have  never 
yet  seen  a  trace  of  one.  Alas !  my  sweet,  despite  the  fine 
promises  and  vows  by  which  I  bound  myself  after  the  scene 
of  the  whip,  an  impulse,  which  I  can  only  call  madness,  drove 
me  to  follow  him  in  one  of  his  rapid  rides  to  the  postoffice. 
Gaston  was  appalled  to  be  thus  discovered  on  horseback,  pay- 
ing the  postage  of  a  letter  which  he  held  in  his  hand.  He 
looked  fixedly  at  me,  and  then  put  spurs  to  Fedelta.  The 
pace  was  so  hard  that  I  felt  shaken  to  bits  when  I  reached  the 
lodge  gate,  though  my  mental  agony  was  such  at  the  time 
that  it  might  well  have  dulled  all  consciousness  of  bodily  pain. 
Arrived  at  the  gate,  Gaston  said  nothing ;  he  rang  the  bell 
and  waited  without  a  word.  I  was  more  dead  than  alive.  I 
might  be  mistaken  or  I  might  not,  but  in  neither  case  was  it 
fitting  for  Armande-Louise-Marie  de  Chaulieu  to  play  the  spy. 
I  had  sunk  to  the  level  of  the  gutter,  by  the  side  of  courtesans, 
opera-dancers,  mere  creatures  of  instinct ;  even  the  vulgar 
shop-girl  or  humble  seamstress  might  look  down  on  me. 

What  a  moment !  At  last  the  door  opened  ;  he  handed  his 
horse  to  the  groom,  and  I  also  dismounted,  but  into  his  arms, 
which  were  stretched  out  to  receive  me.  I  threw  my  skirt 
over  my  left  arm,  gave  him  my  right,  and  we  walked  on — 
still  in  silence.  The  few  steps  we  thus  took  might  be  reckoned 
to  me  for  a  hundred  years  of  purgatory.  A  swarm  of  thoughts 
beset  me  as  I  walked,  now  seeming  to  take  visible  form  in 
tongues  of  fire  before  my  eyes,  now  assailing  my  mind,  each 
with  its  own  poisoned  dart.  When  the  groom  and  the 
horses  were  far  away,  I  stopped  Gaston,  and,  looking  him 
in  the  face,  said,  as  I  pointed,  with  a  gesture  that  you  should 
have  seen,  to  the  fatal  letter  still  in  his  right  hand — 
24 


870  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

"May  I  read  it?" 

He  gave  it  me.  I  opened  it,  and  found  a  letter  from 
Nathan,  the  dramatic  author,  informing  Gaston  that  a  play  of 
his  had  been  accepted,  learned,  rehearsed,  and  would  be 
produced  the  following  Saturday.  He  also  inclosed  a  box 
ticket. 

Though  for  me  this  was  the  opening  of  heaven's  gates  to 
the  martyr,  yet  the  fiend  would  not  leave  me  in  peace,  but 
kept  crying:  "Where  are  the  thirty  thousand  francs?"  It 
was  a  question  which  self-respect,  dignity,  all  my  old  self,  in 
fact,  prevented  me  from  uttering.  If  my  thought  became 
speech,  I  might  as  well  throw  myself  into  the  lake  at  once, 
and  yet  I  could  hardly  keep  the  words  down.  Dear  friend, 
was  not  this  a  trial  passing  the  strength  of  woman? 

I  returned  the  letter,  saying — 

"  My  poor  Gaston,  you  are  getting  bored  down  here.  Let 
us  go  back  to  Paris,  won't  you?" 

"To  Paris?"  he  said.  "But  why?  I  only  wanted  to 
find  out  if  I  had  any  gift,  to  taste  the  flowing  bowl  of  suc- 
cess !  * ' 

Nothing  would  be  easier  than  for  me  to  ransack  the  drawer 
some  time  when  he  is  working  and  pretend  great  surprise  at 
finding  the  money  gone.  But  that  would  be  going  half-way 
to  meet  the  answer,  "Oh!  my  friend  So-and-so  was  hard 
up  !  "  etc.,  which  a  man  of  Gaston's  quick  wit  would  not  have 
far  to  seek. 

The  moral,  my  dear,  is  that  the  brilliant  success  of  this  play, 
which  all  Paris  is  crowding  to  see,  is  due  to  us,  though  the 
whole  credit  goes  to  Nathan.  I  am  represented  by  one  of  the 
two  stars  in  the  legend :  And  MM**.  I  saw  the  first  night 
from  the  depths  of  one  of  the  stage  boxes. 

July  \st. 
Gaston's  work  and  his  visits  to  Paris  still  continue.     He  is 
preparing  new  plays,  partly  because  he  wants  a  pretext  for 


LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES.  371 

going  to  Paris,  partly  in  order  to  make  money.  Three  plays 
have  been  accepted,  and  two  more  are  commissioned. 

Oh  !  my  dear,  I  am  lost,  all  is  darkness  around  me.  I 
would  set  fire  to  the  house  in  a  moment  if  that  would  bring 
light.  What  does  it  all  mean?  Is  he  ashamed  of  taking 
money  from  me  ?  He  is  too  high-minded  for  so  trumpery  a 
matter  to  weigh  with  him.  Beside,  scruples  of  the  kind  could 
only  be  the  outcome  of  some  love  affair.  A  man  would  take 
anything  from  his  wife,  but  from  the  woman  he  has  ceased  to 
care  for,  or  is  thinking  of  deserting,  it  is  different.  If  he 
needs  such  large  sums,  it  must  be  to  spend  them  on  a  woman. 
For  himself,  why  should  he  hesitate  to  draw  from  my  purse  ? 
Our  savings  amount  to  one  hundred  thousand  francs ! 

In  short,  my  sweetheart,  I  have  explored  a  whole  continent 
of  possibilities,  and,  after  carefully  weighing  all  the  evidence, 
am  convinced  I  have  a  rival.  I  am  deserted — for  whom  ?  At 
all  costs  I  must  see  the  unknown. 

July  \otk. 

Light  has  come,  and  it  is  all  over  with  me.  Yes,  Ren^e, 
at  the  age  of  thirty,  in  the  perfection  of  my  beauty,  with  all 
the  resources  of  a  ready  wit  and  the  seductive  charms  of  dress 
at  my  command,  I  am  betrayed — and  for  whom  ?  A  large- 
boned  Englishwoman,  with  big  feet  and  thick  waist — a  reg- 
ular British  cow !  There  is  no  longer  room  for  doubt.  I  will 
tell  you  the  history  of  the  last  few  days. 

Worn  out  with  suspicions,  which  were  fed  by  Gaston's  guilty 
silence  (for,  if  he  had  helped  a  friend,  why  keep  it  a  secret 
from  me  ? ),  his  insatiable  desire  for  money,  and  his  frequent 
journeys  to  Paris ;  jealous,  too,  of  the  work  from  which  he 
seemed  unable  to  tear  himself,  I  at  last  made  up  my  mind  to 
take  certain  steps,  of  such  a  degrading  nature  that  I  cannot 
tell  you  about  them.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  three  days  ago  I 
ascertained  that  Gaston,  when  in  Paris,  visits  a  house  in  the 
Rue  de  la  Ville  I'Evdque,  where  he  guards  his  mistress  with 


872  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

jealous  mystery,  unexampled  in  Paris.  The  porter  was  surly, 
and  I  could  get  little  out  of  him,  but  that  little  was  enough 
to  put  an  end  to  any  lingering  hope,  and  with  hope  to  life. 
On  this  point  my  mind  was  resolved,  and  I  only  waited  to 
learn  the  whole  truth  first. 

With  this  object  I  went  to  Paris  and  took  rooms  in  a  house 
exactly  opposite  the  one  which  Gaston  visits.  Thence  I  saw 
him  with  my  own  eyes  enter  the  courtyard  on  horseback. 
Too  soon  a  ghastly  fact  forced  itself  on  me.  This  English- 
woman, who  seems  to  me  about  thirty-six,  is  known  as  Mrae. 
Gaston. 

This  discovery  was  my  death-blow. 

I  saw  him  next  walking  to  the  Tuileries  with  a  couple  of 
children.  Oh  !  my  dear,  two  children,  the  living  images  of 
Gaston !  The  likeness  is  so  strong  that  it  bears  scandal  on 
the  face  of  it.  And  what  pretty  children  !  in  their  handsome 
English  costumes  !  She  is  the  mother  of  his  children.  Here 
is  the  key  to  the  whole  mystery. 

The  woman  herself  might  be  a  Greek  statue,  stepped  down 
from  some  monument.  Cold  and  white  as  marble,  she  moves 
sedately  with  a  mother's  pride.  She  is  undeniably  beautiful, 
but  heavy  as  a  man  of  war.  There  is  no  breeding  or  dis- 
tinction about  her ;  nothing  of  the  English  lady.  Probably 
she  is  a  farmer's  daughter  from  some  wretched  or  remote 
country  village,  or,  it  may  be,  the  eleventh  child  of  some 
poor  clergyman  ! 

I  reached  home,  after  a  miserable  journey,  during  which  all 
sort  of  fiendish  thoughts  had  me  at  their  mercy,  with  hardly 
any  life  left  in  me.  Was  she  married  ?  Did  he  know  her  be- 
fore our  marriage  ?  Had  she  been  deserted  by  some  rich  man, 
whose  mistress  she  was,  and  thus  thrown  back  upon  Gaston's 
hands  ?  Conjectures  without  end  flitted  through  ray  brain, 
as  though  conjecture  were  needed  in  the  presence  of  the  chil- 
dren. 

The  next  day  I  returned  to  Paris,  and  by  a  free  use  of  my 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  378 

purse  extracted  from  the  porter  the  information  that  Mme. 
Gaston  was  legally  married. 

His  reply  to  my  question  took  the  form  "  Yes,  Miss^ 

July  x^tk. 

My  dear,  my  love  for  Gaston  is  stronger  than  ever  since 
that  morning,  and  he  has  every  appearance  of  being  still  more 
deeply  in  love.  He  is  so  young !  A  score  of  times  it  has 
been  on  my  lips,  when  we  rise  in  the  morning,  to  say,  "Then 
you  love  me  better  than  the  lady  of  the  Rue  de  la  Ville 
I'Evgque  ?  "  But  I  dare  not  explain  to  myself  why  the  words 
are  checked  on  my  tongue. 

"  Are  you  very  fond  of  children  ?  "  I  asked. 

*'  Oh  yes  !  "  was  his  reply ;  "  but  children  will  come  !  " 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  " 

"I  have  consulted  the  best  doctors,  and  they  agree  in  ad- 
vising me  to  travel  for  a  few  months." 

"Gaston,"  I  said,  "if  love  in  absence  had  been  possible 
for  me,  do  you  suppose  I  should  ever  have  left  the  con- 
vent?" 

He  laughed;  but  as  for  me,  dear,  the  word  "travel" 
pierced  my  heart.  Rather,  far  rather,  would  I  leap  from  the 
top  of  the  house  than  be  rolled  down  the  staircase,  step  by 
step.  Farewell,  my  sweet  heart.  I  have  arranged  for  my  death 
to  be  easy,  and  without  horrors,  but  certain.  I  made  my  will 
yesterday.  You  can  come  to  me  now,  the  prohibition  is  re- 
moved. Come,  then,  and  receive  my  last  farewell.  I  will 
not  die  by  inches ;  my  death,  like  my  life,  shall  bear  the  im- 
press of  dignity  and  grace. 

Farewell,  dear  sister  soul,  whose  affection  has  never  wavered 
nor  grown  weary,  but  has  been  the  constant  tender  moonlight 
of  my  soul.  If  the  intensity  of  passion  has  not  been  ours,  at 
least  we  have  been  spared  its  venomous  bitterness.  How 
rightly  you  have  judged  of  life  !     Farewell. 


374  LETTERS  OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

LV. 

THE   COMTESSE  DE  L'ESTORADE   TO   MME.    GASTON. 

July  l6th. 

My  DEAR  Louise  : — I  send  this  letter  by  an  express  before 
hastening  to  the  chalet  myself.  Take  courage.  Your  last 
letter  seemed  to  me  so  frantic  that  I  thought  myself  justified, 
under  the  circumstances,  in  confiding  all  to  Louis ;  it  was  a 
question  of  saving  you  from  yourself.  If  the  means  we  have 
employed  have  been,  like  yours,  repulsive,  yet  the  result  is  so 
satisfactory  that  I  am  certain  you  will  approve.  I  went  so  far 
as  to  set  the  police  to  work,  but  the  whole  thing  remains  a 
secret  between  the  prefect,  ourselves,  and  you. 

In  one  word,  Gaston  is  a  jewel !  But  here  are  the  facts. 
His  brother,  Louis  Gaston,  died  at  Calcutta,  while  in  the  ser- 
vice of  a  mercantile  company,  when  he  was  on  the  very  point 
of  returning  to  France,  a  rich,  prosperous,  married  man, 
having  received  a  very  large  fortune  with  his  wife,  who  was 
the  widow  of  an  English  merchant.  For  ten  years  he  had 
worked  hard  that  he  might  be  able  to  send  home  enough  to 
support  his  brother,  to  whom  he  was  devotedly  attached,  and 
from  whom  his  letters  generously  concealed  all  his  trials  and 
disappointments. 

Then  came  the  failure  of  the  great  Halmer  house ;  the 
widow  was  ruined,  and  the  sudden  shock  affected  Louis 
Gaston's  brain.  He  had  no  mental  energy  left  to  resist  the 
disease  which  attacked  him,  and  he  died  in  Bengal,  whither 
he  had  gone  to  try  and  realize  the  remnants  of  his  wife's 
property.  The  dear,  good  fellow  had  deposited  with  a  banker 
a  first  sum  of  three  hundred  thousand  francs,  which  was  to 
go  to  his  brother,  but  the  banker  was  involved  in  the  Halmer 
crash,  and  thus  their  last  resource  failed  them. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  375 

Louis'  widow,  the  handsome  woman  whom  you  took  for 
your  rival,  arrived  in  Paris  with  two  children — your  nephews 
— and  an  empty  purse,  her  mother's  jewels  having  barely 
sufficed  to  pay  for  bringing  them  over.  The  instructions 
which  Louis  Gaston  had  given  the  banker  for  sending  the 
money  to  his  brother  enabled  the  widow  to  find  your  hus- 
band's former  home.  As  Gaston  had  disappeared  without 
leaving  any  address,  Mme.  Louis  Gaston  was  directed  to 
d'Arthez,  the  only  person  who  could  give  any  information 
about  him. 

D'Arthez  was  the  more  ready  to  relieve  the  young  woman's 
pressing  needs,  because  Louis  Gaston,  at  the  time  of  his 
marriage  four  years  before,  had  written  to  make  inquiries 
about  his  brother  from  the  famous  author,  whom  he  knew  to 
be  one  of  his  friends.  The  captain  had  consulted  d'Arthez 
as  to  the  best  means  of  getting  the  money  safely  transferred 
to  Marie,  and  d'Arthez  had  replied,  telling  him  that  Gaston 
was  now  a  rich  man  through  his  marriage  with  the  Baronne 
de  Macumer.  The  personal  beauty,  which  was  the  mother's 
rich  heritage  to  her  sons,  had  saved  them  both — one  in  India, 
the  other  in  Paris — from  destitution.  A  touching  story,  is  it 
not? 

D'Arthez  naturally  wrote,  after  a  time,  to  tell  your  husband 
of  the  condition  of  his  sister-in-law  and  her  children,  inform- 
ing him,  at  the  same  time,  of  the  generous  intentions  of  the 
Indian  Gaston  toward  his  Paris  brother,  which  an  unhappy 
chance  alone  had  frustrated.  Gaston,  as  you  may  imagine, 
hurried  off  to  Paris.  Here  is  the  first  ride  accounted  for. 
During  the  last  five  years  he  had  saved  fifty  thousand  francs 
out  of  the  income  which  you  forced  him  to  accept,  and  this 
sum  he  invested  in  the  public  funds  under  the  names  of  his 
two  nephews,  securing  them  each,  in  this  way,  an  income  of 
twelve  hundred  francs.  Next  he  furnished  his  sister-in-law's 
rooms,  and  promised  her  a  quarterly  allowance  of  three  thou- 
sand   francs.     Here   you   see   the  meaning  of  his  dramatic 


376  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

labors  and  the  pleasure  caused  him  by  the  success  of  his  first 
play. 

Mme.  Gaston,  therefore,  is  no  rival  of  yours,  and  has  every 
right  to  your  name.  A  man  of  Gaston's  sensitive  delicacy 
was  bound  to  keep  the  affair  secret  from  you,  knowing,  as  he 
did,  your  generous  nature.  Nor  does  he  look  on  what  you 
give  him  as  his  own.  D'Arthez  read  me  the  letter  he  had 
from  your  husband,  asking  him  to  be  one  of  the  witnesses  at 
his  marriage.  Gaston  in  this  declares  that  his  happiness 
would  have  been  perfect  but  for  the  one  drawback  of  his 
poverty  and  indebtedness  to  you.  A  virgin  soul  is  at  the 
mercy  of  such  scruples.  Either  they  make  themselves  felt  or 
they  do  not ;  and  when  they  do,  it  is  easy  to  imagine  the 
conflict  of  feeling  and  embarrassment  to  which  they  give  rise. 
Nothing  is  more  natural  than  Gaston's  wish  to  provide  in 
secret  a  suitable  maintenance  for  the  woman  who  is  his 
brother's  widow,  and  who  had  herself  set  aside  one  hundred 
thousand  crowns  for  him  from  her  own  fortune.  She  is  a 
handsome  woman,  warm-hearted,  and  extremely  well-bred, 
but  not  clever.  She  is  a  mother ;  and,  you  may  be  sure,  I 
lost  my  heart  to  her  at  first  sight  when  I  found  her  with  one 
child  in  her  arms,  and  the  other  dressed  like  a  little  lord. 
The  children  first !  is  written  in  every  detail  of  her  house. 

Far  from  being  angry,  therefore,  with  your  beloved  hus- 
band, you  should  find  in  all  this  fresh  reason  for  loving  him. 
I  have  met  him,  and  think  him  the  most  delightful  young 
fellow  in  Paris.  Yes !  dear  child,  when  I  saw  him,  I  had  no 
difficulty  in  understanding  that  a  woman  might  lose  her  head 
about  him  ;  his  soul  is  mirrored  in  his  countenance.  If  I  were 
you,  I  should  settle  the  widow  and  her  children  near  the 
chalet,  in  a  pretty  little  cottage  which  you  could  have  built 
for  them,  and  adopt  the  boys ! 

Be  at  peace,  then,  dear  soul,  and  plan  this  little  surprise, 
in  your  turn,  for  Gaston. 


LETTERS   OF   TWO  BRIDES.  'Sn 

LVI. 

MME.  GASTON   TO  THE   COMTESSE   DE  l'eSTORADE. 

Ah !  my  dear  friend,  what  can  I  say  in  answer  except  the 
cruel  "It  is  too  late"  of  that  fool  Lafayette  to  his  royal 
master?  Oh!  my  life,  my  sweet  life,  what  physician  will 
give  it  back  to  me  ?  My  own  hand  has  dealt  the  death-blow. 
Alas !  have  I  not  been  a  mere  will-o'-the-wisp,  whose  twink- 
ling spark  was  fated  to  perish  before  it  reached  a  flame?  My 
eyes  rain  torrents  of  tears — and  yet  they  must  not  fall  when  I 
am  with  him.  I  fly  him,  and  he  seeks  me.  My  despair  is  all 
within.  This  torture  Dante  forgot  to  place  in  his  "Inferno." 
Come  to  see  me  die. 

LVII. 

the   COMTESSE   DE   l'eSTORADE   TO   THE    COMTE   DE 

l'estorade. 

The  Chalet,  August  'jth. 

My  Love  : — Take  the  children  away  to  Provence  without 
me ;  I  remain  with  Louise,  who  has  only  a  few  days  yet  to 
live.  I  cannot  leave  either  her  or  her  husband,  for  whose 
reason  I  fear. 

You  know  the  scrap  of  letter  which  sent  me  flying  to  Ville 
d'Avray,  picking  up  the  doctors  on  my  way.  Since  then  I 
have  not  left  my  darling  friend,  and  it  has  been  impossible  to 
write  you,  for  I  have  sat  up  every  night  for  two  weeks. 

When  I  arrived,  I  found  her  with  Gaston,  in  full  dress, 
beautiful,  laughing,  happy.  It  was  a  heroic  falsehood  !  They 
were  like  two  lovely  children  together  in  their  restored  con- 
fidence. For  a  moment  I  was  deceived,  like  Gaston,  by  this 
effrontery ;  but  Louise  pressed  my  hand,  whispering — 

"  He  must  not  know ;  I  am  dying." 


378  LETTERS   OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

An  icy  chill  fell  over  me  as  I  felt  her  burning  hand  and 
saw  the  red  spot  on  her  cheeks.  I  congratulated  myself  on 
my  prudence  in  leaving  the  doctors  in  the  wood  till  they 
should  be  sent  for. 

**  Leave  us  for  a  little,"  she  said  to  Gaston.  "  Two  women 
who  have  not  met  for  five  years  have  plenty  of  secrets  to  talk 
over,  and  Ren6e,  I  have  no  doubt,  has  things  to  confide  in 
me." 

Directly  we  were  alone,  she  flung  herself  into  my  arms, 
unable  longer  to  restrain  her  tears. 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  I  said.  "I  have  brought  with  me,  in 
case  of  need,  the  best  surgeon  and  the  best  physician  from  the 
hospital,  and  Bianchon  as  well;  there  are  four  altogether." 

*'  Ah!  "  she  cried,  "  have  them  in  at  once  if  they  can  save 
me,  if  there  is  still  time.  The  passion  which  hurried  me  to 
death  now  cries  for  life  !  " 

"But  what  have  you  done  to  yourself?" 

'*  I  have  in  a  few  days  brought  myself  to  the  last  stage  of 
consumption." 

"But  how?" 

**I  got  myself  into  a  profuse  perspiration  in  the  night,  and 
then  ran  out  and  lay  down  by  the  side  of  the  lake  in  the  dew. 
Gaston  thinks  I  have  a  cold,  and  I  am — dying !  " 

"Send  him  to  Paris;  I  will  fetch  the  doctors  myself," 
I  said,  as  I  rushed  out  wildly  to  the  spot  where  I  had  left 
them. 

Alas !  my  love,  after  the  consultation  was  over,  not  one  of 
the  doctors  gave  me  the  least  hope;  they  all  believe  that 
Louise  will  die  with  the  fall  of  the  leaves.  The  dear  child's 
constitution  has  wonderfully  helped  the  success  of  her  plan. 
It  seems  she  has  a  predisposition  to  this  complaint ;  and 
though,  in  the  ordinary  course,  she  might  have  lived  a  long 
time,  a  few  day's  folly  has  made  the  case  desperate. 

I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  felt  on  hearing  this  sentence,  based 
on  such  clear  explanations.     You  know  that  I  have  lived  in 


5-.^. 


SHE CARRIED    ME   OFF  TO    HER   PRETTY   GARDEN. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  379 

Louise  as  much  as  in  my  own  life.  I  was  simply  crushed,  and 
could  not  stir  to  escort  to  the  door  these  harbingers  of  evil. 
I  don't  know  how  long  I  remained  lost  in  bitter  thoughts,  the 
tears  running  down  my  cheeks,  when  I  was  roused  from  my 
stupor  by  the  words : 

" So  there  is  no  hope  for  me!  "  in  a  clear,  angelic  voice. 

It  was  Louise,  with  her  hand  on  my  shoulder.  She  made 
me  get  up,  and  carried  me  off  to  her  pretty  garden.  With  a 
beseeching  glance,  she  went  on  : 

"  Stay  with  me  to  the  end ;  I  won't  have  doleful  faces  round 
me.  Above  all,  I  must  keep  the  truth  from  him.  I  know  that 
I  have  strength  to  do  it.  I  am  full  of  youth  and  spirit,  and 
can  die  standing  !  For  myself,  I  have  no  regrets.  I  am  dying 
as  I  wished  to  die,  still  young  and  beautiful,  in  the  perfection 
of  my  womanhood. 

"As  for  him,  I  can  see  very  well  now  that  I  should  have 
made  his  life  miserable.  Passion  has  me  in  its  grip,  like  a 
struggling  fawn,  impatient  of  the  toils.  My  groundless  jeal- 
ousy has  already  wounded  him  sorely.  When  the  day  came 
that  my  suspicions  met  only  indifference — which  in  the  long- 
run  is  the  rightful  meed  of  all  jealousy — well,  that  would  have 
been  my  death.  I  have  had  my  share  of  life.  There  are 
people  whose  names  on  the  muster-roll  of  the  world  show 
sixty  years  of  service,  and  yet  in  all  that  time  they  have  not 
had  two  years  of  real  life,  whilst  my  record  of  thirty  is  doubled 
by  the  intensity  of  my  love. 

"  Thus  for  him,  as  well  as  for  me,  the  close  is  a  happy  one. 
But  between  us,  dear  Ren6e,  it  is  different.  You  lose  a  loving 
sister,  and  that  is  a  loss  which  nothing  can  repair.  You  alone 
here  have  the  right  to  mourn  my  death." 

After  a  long  pause,  during  which  I  could  only  see  her 
through  a  mist  of  tears,  she  continued : 

"  The  moral  of  my  death  is  a  cruel  one.  My  dear  doctor 
in  petticoats  was  right ;  marriage  cannot  rest  upon  passion  as 
its  foundation,  nor  even  upon  love.     How  fine  and  noble  is 


380  LETTERS  OF  TWO   BRIDES. 

your  life  !  keeping  always  to  the  one  safe  road,  you  give  your 
husband  an  ever-growing  affection  ;  while  the  passionate  eager- 
ness with  which  I  threw  myself  into  wedded  life  was  bound  in 
nature  to  diminish.  Twice  have  I  gone  astray,  and  twice  has 
Death  stretched  forth  his  bony  hand  to  strike  my  happiness. 
The  first  time,  he  robbed  me  of  the  noblest  and  most  devoted 
of  men ;  now  it  is  my  turn,  the  grinning  monster  tears  me 
from  the  arms  of  my  poet  husband,  with  all  his  beauty  and 
his  grace. 

"Yet  I  would  not  complain.  Have  I  not  known  in  turn 
two  men,  each  the  very  pattern  of  nobility — one  in  mind,  the 
other  in  outward  form  ?  In  Felipe,  the  soul  dominated  and 
transformed  the  body ;  in  Gaston,  one  could  not  say  which 
was  supreme — heart,  mind,  or  grace  of  form.  I  die  adored — 
what  more  could  I  wish  for?  Time,  perhaps,  in  which  to 
draw  near  the  God  of  whom  I  may  have  too  little  thought. 
My  spirit  will  take  its  flight  toward  Him,  full  of  love,  and 
with  the  prayer  that  some  day,  in  the  world  above.  He  will 
unite  me  once  more  to  the  two  who  made  a  heaven  of  my 
life  below.     Without  them,  paradise  would  be  a  desert  to  me. 

"To  others,  my  example  would  be  fatal,  for  mine  was  no 
common  lot.  To  meet  a  Felipe  or  a  Gaston  is  more  than 
mortals  can  expect,  and  therefore  the  doctrine  of  society  in 
regard  to  marriage  accords  with  the  natural  law.  Woman  is 
weak,  and  in  marrying  she  ought  to  make  an  entire  sacrifice  of 
her  will  to  the  man  who,  in  return,  should  lay  his  selfishness 
at  her  feet.  The  stir  which  women  of  late  years  have  created 
by  their  whining  and  insubordination  is  ridiculous,  and  only 
shows  how  well  we  deserve  the  epithet  of  children,  bestowed 
by  philosophers  on  our  sex." 

She  continued  talking  thus  in  the  gentle  voice  you  know  so 
well,  uttering  the  gravest  truths  in  the  prettiest  manner,  until 
Gaston  entered,  bringing  with  him  his  sister-in-law,  the  two 
children,  and  the  English  nurse,  whom,  at  Louise's  request, 
lie  had  been  to  fetch  from  Paris. 


LETTERS   OF   TWO   BRIDES.  381 

"Here  are  the  pretty  instruments  of  my  torture,"  she  said, 
as  her  nephews  approached.  "  Was  not  the  mistake  excusable  ? 
What  a  wonderful  likeness  to  their  uncle? " 

She  was  most  friendly  to  Mme.  Gaston  the  elder,  and  begged 
that  she  would  look  upon  the  chalet  as  her  home ;  in  short, 
she  played  the  hostess  to  her  in  her  best  de  Chaulieu  manner, 
in  which  no  one  can  rival  her. 

I  wrote  at  once  to  the  Due  and  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu,  the 
Due  de  Rhetor6,  and  the  Due  de  Lenoncourt-Givry,  as  well 
as  to  Madeleine.  It  was  time.  Next  day,  Louise,  worn  out 
with  so  much  exertion,  was  unable  to  go  out ;  indeed,  she  only 
got  up  for  dinner.  In  the  course  of  the  evening,  Madeleine 
de  Lenoncourt,  her  two  brothers,  and  her  mother  arrived. 
The  coolness  which  Louise's  second  marriage  had  caused 
between  herself  and  her  family  disappeared.  Every  day  since 
that  evening,  Louise's  father  and  both  her  brothers  have 
ridden  over  in  the  morning,  and  the  two  duchesses  spend  all 
their  evenings  at  the  chalet.  Death  unites  as  well  as  separates; 
it  silences  all  paltry  feeling. 

Louise  is  perfection  in  her  charm,  her  grace,  her  good  sense, 
her  wit,  and  her  tenderness.  She  has  retained  to  the  last  that 
perfect  tact  for  which  she  has  been  so  famous,  and  she  lavishes 
on  us  the  treasures  of  her  brilliant  mind,  which  made  her  one 
of  the  queens  of  Paris. 

"I  should  like  to  look  well  even  in  my  coffin,"  she  said 
with  her  matchless  smile,  as  she  lay  down  on  the  bed  where 
she  has  lingered  for  the  past  two  weeks. 

Her  room  has  nothing  of  the  sick-chamber  in  it ;  medicines, 
ointments,  the  whole  apparatus  of  nursing,  is  carefully  con- 
cealed. 

"I  am  making  a  good  death,  am  I  not?"  she  said  to  the 
Sfevres  priest  who  came  to  confess  her. 

We  gloated  over  her  like  misers.  All  this  anxiety  and  the 
terrible  truths  which  dawned  on  him  have  prepared  Gaston 
for  the  worst.     He  is  full  of  courage,  but  the  blow  has  gone 


382  LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES. 

home.  It  would  not  surprise  me  to  see  him  follow  his  wife  in 
the  natural  course.  Yesterday,  as  we  were  walking  round  the 
lake,  he  said  to  me — 

**  I  must  be  a  father  to  those  two  children,"  and  he  pointed 
to  his  sister-in-law,  who  was  taking  the  boys  for  a  walk.  "But 
though  I  shall  do  nothing  to  hasten  my  end,  I  want  your 
promise  that  you  will  be  a  second  mother  to  them,  and  will 
persuade  your  husband  to  accept  the  office  of  guardian,  which 
I  shall  depute  to  him  in  conjunction  with  my  sister-in-law." 

He  said  this  quite  simply,  like  a  man  who  knows  he  is  not 
long  for  this  world.  He  has  smiles  on  his  face  to  meet 
Louise's,  and  it  is  only  I  whom  he  does  not  deceive.  He  is 
a  mate  for  her  in  courage. 

Louise  has  expressed  a  wish  to  see  her  godson,  but  I  am  not 
sorry  he  should  be  in  Provence ;  she  might  want  to  remember 
him  generously,  and  I  should  be  in  a  great  difficulty. 

Adieu,  my  dear  friend. 

August  2.<)th  (her  birthday). 

Yesterday  evening  Louise  was  delirious  for  a  short  time ; 
but  her  delirium  was  the  prettiest  babbling,  which  shows  that 
even  the  madness  of  gifted  people  is  not  that  of  fools  or  no- 
bodies. In  a  mere  thread  of  a  voice  she  sang  some  Italian 
airs  from  "I  Puritani,"  "La  Somnambula,"  "Moise,"  while 
we  stood  round  the  bed  in  silence.  Not  one  of  us,  not  even 
the  Due  de  Rhetore,  had  dry  eyes,  so  clear  was  it  to  us  all  that 
her  soul  was  in  this  fashion  passing  from  us.  She  could  no 
longer  see  us !  Yet  she  was  there  still  in  the  charm  of  the  faint 
melody,  with  its  sweetness  not  of  this  earth. 

During  the  night  the  death  agony  began.  It  is  now  seven 
in  the  morning,  and  I  myself  have  just  raised  her  from  bed. 
Some  flicker  of  strength  revived  ;  she  wished  to  sit  by  her  win- 
dow, and  asked  for  Gaston's  hand.  And  then,  my  love,  the 
sweetest  spirit  whom  we  shall  ever  see  on  this  earth  de- 
parted, leaving  us  the  empty  shell. 


LETTERS   OF  TWO  BRIDES.  883 

The  last  sacrament  had  been  administered  the  evening  be- 
fore, unknown  to  Gaston,  who  was  taking  a  snatch  of  sleep 
during  this  agonizing  ceremony ;  and  after  she  was  moved  to 
the  window,  she  asked  me  to  read  her  the  De  Profundis  in 
French,  while  she  was  thus  face  to  face  with  the  lovely  scene, 
which  was  her  handiwork.  She  repeated  the  words  after  me 
to  herself,  and  pressed  the  hands  of  her  husband,  who  knelt 
on  the  other  side  of  the  chair. 

August  2&th. 
My  heart  is  broken.     I  have  just  seen  her  in  her  shroud ; 
her  face  is  quite  pale  now  with  purple  shadows.     Oh  !  my 
children  !  I  want  my  children  !     Bring  me  my  children  ! 


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